


Diamonds

by Ulliva



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-06-30 19:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulliva/pseuds/Ulliva
Summary: Timmy is a struggling actor who turns to webcamming to support himself. Don't ever meet up with strangers from the internet, kids!





	1. I don't mean rhinestones

 

 

I slipped into the booth and tucked my bags into the corner. We were a little late; Lukas and Menno already had a shake in front of them. Suzanna sat down beside me. She kept her coat on.

‘Timmy bought a pink Gucci blouse,’ she blurted. Firstly, it was a _shirt_ , and secondly, I’d asked her not to tell. I got enough complaints about my spending already. I made an indignant sound at her spilling the beans as soon as her ass met the bench. ‘I don’t care,’ she laughed. Lukas just groaned. Menno crossed his arms and tried to look in the bag.

‘It’s pink?’

I rolled my eyes. This was why I didn’t tell them what I bought.

‘It’s from last season, I’ve had my eye on it for ages, and it was half off,’ I defended myself.

‘You’re such a brand whore,’ Menno snorted. His eyes widened as soon as the word left his mouth. He pressed his lips into a thin line. It had been six months since I started camming, and six weeks since I’d told my friends. They constantly felt like they had to censor themselves now. I hoped that would pass soon. I hadn’t told Suzanna. She was kind of a prude, and none of us were sure she’d ever had sex. In fact, we were sure; she hadn’t.

The waitress came up to our booth and introduced herself.

‘That’s my cue,’ Suzanna chimed. She kissed me on the cheek, picked up her bags and left. I glanced down at the menu.

‘I’ll have a—Diet Coke,’ I started. I let my eyes trail down over the burgers they offered.

‘What, are you on a diet?’ Lukas was less enthused about my chosen career path. Menno was a slut for the stories I told. They were both still enrolled at Columbia. I’d dropped out to pursue acting, and had quickly found out the life of a struggling actor was less than romantic. I wasn’t struggling anymore now, but I also wasn’t acting.

‘—and a cheese burger,’ I enunciated at Lukas, and then added, with a smile, ‘and sweet potato fries, please.’ The waitress left. ‘I just don’t wanna slip into a food coma. I’ve got shit to do.’

‘We’re aware,’ Lukas said flatly.

‘Show us your shirt,’ Menno cut in.

I reached into the bag. The shirt was in a slim box. I set it on the table and opened it. It was pink and frilly, and I loved it.

‘Oh my _god_ ,’ Lukas groaned. ‘How much did you spend on that?’

‘Like four hundred,’ I admitted. There was a strong double reaction from across the booth. Was I saving some money at least? Did I not want to move out of the Bronx and into the East Village with them? Were they looking for more struggling young men on this website? Lukas poked Menno in the ribs. I’d never held a job this long and I’d never made more money. I worked six hours a night max, five days a week. It had taken me about a month to build up a base. The website hosting me took thirty-five percent of everything I earned. That was fair, compared to other hosts. A good night could earn me two-hundred dollars. Sometimes it was just fifty though.

Our food came, and I stuffed four fries into my mouth as I checked my watch. Ideally, I wanted to be home in an hour to shower and get ready.

‘Any new juicy stories?’ Menno set his milkshake aside and turned his plate around so he had his salad on his right-hand side. ‘Oh! Did you tell Lukas about that guy who wanted you to tell him you were sixteen years old?’

‘Please don’t, I’m eating,’ Lukas sighed.

‘There was a guy who wanted me to tell him I was sixteen,’ I repeated, chewing my fries.

‘Ew.’

I laughed, took a sip of my Coke and picked up my burger.

‘Well, would you rather he went looking for an actual sixteen-year-old kid?’

‘I’d rather he didn’t ask Timmy,’ Lukas said determinedly. I pretended not to hear. They were both protective of me, but they showed it in distinctly different ways. I preferred Menno’s; he’d dress up his concern in a sneaky interest in my stories. He knew I’d tell him if something bothered me. ‘Please promise me you’re not ever meeting up with these creeps,’ Lukas turned to me.

‘I won’t,’ I said solemnly. That wasn’t enough. ‘I won’t!’ I repeated, high-pitched, my shoulders raised in defense. Before I started camming, I’d signed up with an agency. I never told them about that. It had seemed like an easy way to quickly make a few hundred dollars. I’d made it through the first half hour of one date. I let the guy blow me in the bathroom and realized I couldn’t do small talk after that. I didn’t know if or when I was allowed to tell him no, and it had thoroughly freaked me out. I’d bolted before dinner arrived and never picked up the phone. I didn’t make any money that night, so technically it didn’t count.

I scarfed down half a burger and most of my fries, and washed it down with the rest of my Diet Coke. I was being rude, but I really needed to leave.

‘Definitely not on a diet,’ Menno nodded approvingly. ‘You’ve got ketchup on your face, bro.’ I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.

‘Maybe there are guys out there that enjoy that sort of thing,’ Lukas shrugged. I didn’t care about the requests, but I did care about his laconic reactions.

‘Hey, if they don’t like this belly, they can go to a different room,’ I joked. I got my wallet out of my jacket and pulled some money out. ‘I have to split, so—‘

‘Wait, wait, wait. What are those?’ Menno reached out a hand and kept me from putting my wallet away. He was referring to a stack of cards I had stashed behind my cash.

‘Uh—gift cards,’ I muttered. Most of them were for Whole Foods. ‘People send them to me.’ Menno just gaped. I’d quickly learned there was nothing men liked more than buying me stuff and watching me with whatever it was they got me. Underwear, toys, bedding. I’d compiled a wishlist and it had gotten more ballsy as the months went by. I had expensive designer clothing and shoes on there, furniture (‘You want to see me jerk off on this armchair?’), books, and gift cards for a range of stores so I could pick my own stuff and report back (‘delicious smoothie today, Todd’). I slipped one out and checked the back to make sure I hadn’t used it. ‘Here,’ I offered. Menno took the card. ‘It’s probably twenty or twenty-five,’ I shrugged. I put my wallet away and watched him hesitantly pocket the gift card.

‘Cool, thanks,’ he then said cheerily. I put my jacket back on—designer, self-purchased—and got up. It felt like a power move; you play along, you get rewarded.

As soon as I got home, I showered and took care of my finances. My cut for the night appeared on my PayPal account in the morning. I’d made it a habit to empty it into my checking account every day, so it couldn’t get called back for whatever reason. It was Saturday night, the last day of my week. On Sundays, I had dinner with my grandma and sometimes spent the night. Mondays were usually pretty dead anyway.

I put on fresh underwear and unpacked my shirt. I loved it. It was one of those things where I was sure it was ugly. I had eyes. It was an ugly shirt. If I found it in my grandmother’s closet I wouldn’t be jumping to put it on. But I was now, because it was Gucci. It was in a Gucci bag, in a box, with a thin crepe paper around it. It had the tags and the brand name sewn in. I put my arms in the sleeves and buttoned it. How many buttons to leave undone? The bottom one for sure. Two on top? Or three? Maybe two to begin. It was the perfect outfit for camming. The color completely washed me out. My sheets were white. It would make me pop. Light, bright, and innocent. The sleeves were a little annoying though, so I rolled them up. Still cute. With any luck, I wouldn’t even have to take it off tonight. Everyone set different boundaries for themselves. Some guys went all the way in their public rooms and thrived on the tips they got. Some guys were more into comedy, some ate on screen, or had sex with a partner. I offered company. I just sat on cam, skimpily clad, and talked. I only undressed in private sessions.

I walked through my studio in slippers—the guys liked clean feet—and set up my laptop on top of two anthologies on my Ikea desk chair. This way I could move it around a little.

I logged on just before nine, exactly as planned. I started streaming. I checked how I looked in the little screen on the left-hand side. Exactly how I’d imagined. Two people came into the room immediately; guests.

‘Hi there! Stick around, I’m just gonna get myself something to drink,’ I announced. I got up from the bed, stepped into the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was fully stocked. I threw out a boxed salad I’d been meaning to eat tonight; It would go off tomorrow. I grabbed a smoothie out of the door and nudged it with my elbow. I got a Tupperware with homemade trail mix from the cupboard—I had a lot of time to waste in the day—and padded back to my laptop. A couple dozen people were watching an empty bed. They’d started a conversation amongst themselves. I connected my phone to my bluetooth speakers and turned on a playlist, then put my phone on flight mode. I heard the computerized sound of a cash register and coins rolling. Someone was already putting dollar bills in my virtual g-string. I plopped myself down on the bed and was greeted by a string of messages in the chat. Some looked familiar, others were first-time visitors. More coins rolled. There were buttons on the top of the screen that represented virtual tips. Members could upload credit to spend as tokens in the rooms. Ten tokens was a dollar.

‘Good evening everyone!’ I popped some m&ms into my mouth. The first few weeks, I’d starved all night. Turned out people actually enjoyed it when you pretended it was a normal night in. There were people specifically cruising cams looking for boys drinking wine. That made me sleepy though. Two people commented on my shirt. I put my AirPods in so I was the only one who heard when someone dropped coins. They had been my first investment, and well worth their money. It was hard to keep track of what people were saying while turned away from the screen, on all fours. More people entered. Maureen popped up.

_Maureen_: Good evening, sweetheart!_

‘Oh, hi Maureen!’ I waved at the screen. Maureen was in her late fifties, as was her husband. They had been married for thirty years, no children. A couple of years ago, he’d confessed to her that he was gay, and they had found a middle ground: me. I was something they could agree on, bond over. A lot of cammers reported female viewers, but I didn’t mind. Geoff worked in construction, on weekends he did some shifts with the fire brigade. He came on a few times a week. When he was out, Maureen would check up on me. She dropped a hundred tokens in the chat. A private message blinked.

_Maureen_: For some cake and coffee with grandma tomorrow... don’t tell Geoff! ;-)_

I wasn’t sure where in New York I was supposed to find coffee and cake for two for under ten bucks, but it was the thought that counted. Maybe you could get a whole meal for that in Alabama. I replied in the chat.

_TimmyTim: Thanks, Maureen! Tell Geoff hi from me and enjoy your weekend!_

_Maureen_: Will do! Lovely shirt, darling_

She logged off. She usually ducked out before things got too racy. It was like having a weird aunt living out of state. That was three compliments on the shirt.

I opened my smoothie and took a sip. It was juice, much thinner than I’d expected so I accidentally gulped it. I coughed, then read the bottle properly.

_Guest2401: hah not good?_

I cleared my throat.

‘Wrong hole,’ I replied. They’d love a comment like that. ‘Actually it’s tasty! From Juice Press, I got a gift card the other day. Thanks to whoever sent me that!’ I welcomed more people into the room, referred to my wishlist a few times, and that was an hour gone. I never checked how much money I had until the end of the night but I started to get a feel for the amount of tokens rolling. Some people set a goal for their room, said it really riled people up, but it made me feel weird. I felt like that gave people certain expectations.

Two hours into my stream, my shirt was paid for in compliments. I had four buttons undone and I was dancing to kill time. People were laid back on Saturdays. Another familiar name popped up in the chat. Lumberjackkk was not a lumberjack at all, and also not a white supremacist. He’d just made a poor decision picking a screen name and decided it was too big of a hassle to terminate his account and have to go through the whole process again to add his credit card information. He was a quiet guy, late thirties, still looking for the one. I hadn’t broken the news to him that maybe he was looking at the wrong gender. He either showed up early to chat, or late to jack off. He always snatched me up as soon as he came online, and didn’t get involved in the group chat. I received a private message from him straight away.

_Lumberjackkk: can i steal you for ten mins?_

_TimmyTim: you can even get 15_

Going into a private session was nine dollars per minute. There was a semi-private option, where other people could lurk, but that was bullshit. I’d never gotten requests for that. I excused myself from the room and accepted the pop-up request on my screen.

‘Hey, beautiful boy,’ came his usual greeting.

‘Hi, handsome,’ I replied. It came out like spit at this point, but at least it wasn’t a complete lie when I talked to him. Kenneth was an accountant somewhere in the midwest. I was sure he’d slipped and told me his city, but at least I remembered he was two hours behind me. He had a full beard and wore a grey button down shirt. He was lounging on a couch, an old jack russell terrier asleep on the armrest behind his head. ‘Hi, Carl,’ I added. It made him smile. I asked him how his day was. Annoying, work on Saturday was never fun. He’d done some kind of seminar for interns. A couple of weeks ago, he’d told me he was promoted, so this was probably part of his new position.

‘How was yours?’

‘It was alright. I went shopping, got some burgers with a couple of friends,’ I shrugged.

‘New shirt?’ I nodded, turned to the side and held my arms up to show the frilly sleeves. ‘Can’t believe you’re pulling that off,’ he laughed. Ken was a friend. He’d tell me when Carl got sick, or when he would be gone for a couple of days, usually to go camping or something manly like that. Sometimes we masturbated in front of each other. He told me he had to go; Saturday was bowling night.

‘Throw a strike for me,’ I pouted. He laughed, and said goodbye as I blew a kiss at the screen. He logged off.

I made myself a cup of earl grey with two sugars and splash of milk and immediately burned my lip. The night was calm. No one made any outrageously inappropriate comments. I got tips for unbuttoning my shirt and drinking tea. I rejected a private cam request from someone I’d never talked to. I felt like I could afford a luxury like that; as soon as I made rent, it took away some of the pressure to perform.

 

_Ryan68: hey gorgeous_

Ryan was a riot. He was always overly enthusiastic and had been put on many 24-hour bans for sharing his phone number in the chat. He insisted he wanted to meet up, but I was sure that was all a bluff. What he didn’t have to bluff about though, was the size of his dick. It was the biggest I’d ever seen and I was always terrified and mesmerized at the same time. I welcomed him into the room. He asked me about my shirt and told me to turn around and show him that ass. I did, wiggled it, heard some coins roll.

_Ryan68: fuck_

Then, in a private message:

_Ryan68: fuck._

I loved his theatrics. I laughed, out loud.

_Ryan68: you’re too damn cute_

_Ryan68: i was hard all day thinking about that body_

_Ryan68: i’d destroy you_

He had a way of wrapping me around his finger—or dick. His flattery was so over the top it always made me laugh. It was always ‘that ass’, ‘that body’, ‘those eyes’, ‘that face’. He made me giddy.

_TimmyTim: I’d let you_

The request came a split second later. I accepted it. Ryan wore a T-shirt and jeans. Real denim, not that jog stuff. The fly looked like it’d been ripped open, five metal buttons on one side, his hand covering the other. He was hard.

‘Fuck,’ I breathed. It was genuine. I felt my boxers grow tighter. I hated how easy it made me feel. Ryan was objectively attractive; superhero physique, square jaw, square hairline.

‘You look so fucking good in that,’ came from him, straight into my ears and down to my dick. ‘Show me properly.’ His comments were always purely sexual, but somehow that was okay. I sat up on my knees and straightened the shirt out. ‘Turn around.’ I turned around, arched my back, lifted my shirt a little.

‘Fuck,’ he sighed. I heard his hand move against the jeans.

‘What do you want me to do?’ I hated when my voice came out like it did; too high and sing-songy to sound authentic. He didn’t seem to notice or care.

‘Bend over, show me that ass.’ That ass. I supported myself on one arm, glanced over my shoulder and slowly peeled the waistband of my underpants back. I paused halfway my buttocks and lifted the hem of my shirt again. ‘Hmm, fuck. Are you hard, beautiful?’ I nodded, realized he couldn’t see my head and sat up.

‘Yeah.’ It wasn’t a lie.

‘Touch yourself.’

I tugged my boxers down further, bent over, chest and cheek against the mattress. I reached between my legs, squeezed my balls and ran a hand down my dick. I was fully hard; soft skin stretched over my erection. I wrapped my fingers around it and started stroking myself. I shivered.

‘Good boy,’ Ryan praised.

‘What do you want me to do?’

I knew exactly what he wanted me to do. The bigger the dick, the smaller the plug they wanted to see me wear.

‘Did you get that diamond I sent you?’

He was referring to the princess plug he bought off my wishlist. It wasn’t my favorite type, but they were aesthetically pleasing. I dug it out of the bag under my desk chair and showed him. Only the bottom half of his face was on the screen, but it broke into a smile. The plug was steel, with a large pink rhinestone on the base. I had to give it to him; it did match my outfit. I showed him the plug, twirled it between my fingers, watched the glass stone twinkle in the light from my laptop. I leaned into the screen until only the bottom half of my face was in the shot, and smiled. I noticed his hand stall. I ran the plug against my lips and licked it. I hated that my eyes glanced down at the timer. Ryan's hand picked up the pace again as I heard him sigh. He wasn't looking at the clock. I sucked the thing into my mouth. It was both to turn him on and to warm up the metal; cold surgical steel wasn’t very sexy.

I grabbed my lube and put a dollop on the end of the plug, then dipped a finger in it. I turned around again, bent over and ran a wet finger between my ass cheeks.

‘Tell me how tight it is,’ he hummed, hurried.

‘So tight,’ I sighed, slipping a finger inside. I heard him swear. I felt my own heartbeat. I turned my face into my sheets. ‘Fuck.’ I licked my hand and tasted the faintly sweet lube. I wet the head of my dick and stroked myself again.

‘Does that make you hard? Thinking of me in there?’ It did. I replied with a moan, and apparently, he was pleased with that. ‘Show me your plug.’ I held it between my index and middle finger and placed the tip against my ass, applying just a little bit of pressure. I fucking hated this type of plug. Hated, hated, hated how blunt it felt as it went in, until it reached the widest part, and suddenly slipped all the way inside. I felt my legs tense up as the plug firmly lodged into place, still slightly cool. ‘That’s beautiful. Fuck you’re hot,’ he muttered. I heard the distinct sound of his MacBook taking a screenshot. I didn’t give a damn; my face wasn’t on it. I hated the cold steel, hated how heavy it sat inside of me, hated how hard it made me. I stroked myself.

‘I wish you’d fuck me exactly like this,’ I heard myself say, and it wasn’t a lie. His breathing picked up.

‘I wouldn’t fuck you,’ he said. ‘I’d watch you, just like that. Press a thumb on that plug.’ I reached my hand back and placed it over the pink stone, pressing down. It made my toes curl. I hated feeling so full and I hated how much I wanted to come.

‘Shit,’ I hissed, my teeth chattered.

‘Make yourself come,’ he told me. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I came on my sheets, uncomfortably clenching down on the plug that didn’t give way in any way. I heard, mid-climax and through cursing myself for messing up my fresh sheets, that he was coming too. I was kinda disappointed I missed it. I ran my hands up my neck and stretched before I sat up again and turned around. ‘Holy shit. You alright?’

‘Yeah,’ I assured him. He was cleaning himself up.

‘I can’t believe you’re still sleeping alone in that bed.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d join you in a heartbeat.’

‘I like my sleep, Ryan. That’s why you’re not invited.’ I waited for him to look up in fake offense before laughing.

‘Anyway, it’s getting late, gorgeous.’ It was almost three in the morning and I was getting cold. He could tell. ‘Get under those sheets, I’ll talk to you soon.’

I wished him good night, and closed out the screen. We clocked out at almost half an hour. Coins rolled in my ear.

‘Damn.’ I dug up some wet wipes and carefully pulled the sheet taut under me so I could wipe it clean. It would have to do for now, because I wasn’t about to change them. I tossed the wipes on the ground next to the bed. I wedged two fingers under the base of the plug and tried to ease it out slowly. I hated how there was no ‘slowly’. It felt like nothing was moving until it popped out in one go. I wrapped the plug in a wipe and made a mental note to take the other colors off my wishlist. I didn’t need any more of these. I dropped it next to the bed too, and cleaned myself up. I got up and stretched, collected the wipes from the ground and stepped back into my boxers. I was getting tired. I got a drink of water in the kitchen and sat back down to sign off for the night.

As usual, the room filled quickly for the last quarter of an hour. A lot of people dropped some singles before signing off too. I just talked about my plans for my weekend in broad terms, asking people if they had any movie recommendations, or books they were reading. I tied another referral to my wishlist at the end of that. I played with the hem of my shirt and felt something wet. There was a streak of come right below a ruffle.

‘Fuck,’ I sighed. I wiped it off with my finger, distinctly remembering the tag said it was dry-clean only. Served me right for buying expensive shit like that. Coins rolled. Not the usual couple of tinkling, but like someone was pouring them. I looked up at the screen and squinted at the chat, searching for the culprit.

_armandoeldistructo sent you 500 tokens!_

I was speechless. I’d never even seen his screen name. Before I could say anything, a private request popped up. I hesitated for a moment, but declined it.

‘I’m sorry, it’s almost three in the morning here, but I’ll be back on Tuesday. Thanks so much for the tokens though!’ There was no reply from him in the chat. ‘Alright you guys, I’m gonna head to bed—‘ Another 500 tokens. I opened my mouth and closed it again. I really wasn’t gonna go private anymore. I held up two fingers in a peace sign and left the room. I was alone again.

 

 _Armie watched the white screen. It was bright suddenly. The room had gone dark around him. His credit card still firmly wedged between his index and middle finger, he noticed his hands were shaking. He’d never paid for anything like this before. Did he say Tuesday? TimmyTim had signed off for the night. There are a thousand other streamers here to entertain you at any time, the screen told him. He clicked out of the empty chat, back to the main page. He scrolled down the dozens of little squares, all containing a face. None of them stood out. It felt like a game of Memory; Armie knew exactly what he was looking for. Dark hair, pale skin, dark boxers, red lips. He never even looked at the screen while he spoke. His eyes hooded, tired, wandering through the room. He rambled almost, mouth never closing, like he was talking through a smile, his hands expressing what his words couldn't, until they settled on the hem of his bright pink shirt. He had feminine features, but an undeniably male nature, and his voice was almost croaky. It had stopped abruptly when he noticed something on his shirt. He mouthed a long '_ fuuuck _', his bottom lip pulling into a pout. His nose scrunched up, and he looked so young. It was like he momentarily forgot people were watching him; unguarded, beautiful. It was then that Armie had clicked the button that had the highest amount of tokens on it. Timmy’s eyes had shot up, his mouth still open. He needed him._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. A kiss on the hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy starts chatting with a generous stranger.

The apartment smelled of food as soon as I came in. I could hear the hum of the kitchen vent, so I called inside to announce myself and not startle my grandma. She lived alone, and was over ninety, after all.

‘It’s just me!’ No reply. I stepped out of my shoes and dropped my backpack by the door. I’d packed a change of clothes and my laptop, just in case I was staying the night. I tiptoed into the kitchen where I found her, not the least bit startled.

‘Sweetheart, can you grab some napkins? There must be a pack up there,’ she simply asked. I opened a cupboard and reached in the back, digging up a closed pack of paper napkins with yellow daisies on them.

‘These?’ I leaned in to show her, placed a kiss on her cheek. She kissed the air twice and nodded.

‘You’re right on time,’ she went on as I finished setting the table. Two water glasses, two small wine glasses. I folded the napkins diagonally and tucked them under the knives, just how she liked. I took my jacket off and hung it over the back of the chair. ‘Put it outside,’ she ordered, ‘It’ll smell like soup otherwise.’ She’d never even looked over her shoulder. I took it out of the kitchen and put it on a hook on the back of the front door. Her apartment was similar to the one I'd grown up in, smaller though. She lived five floors below my parents. When I entered the kitchen again, she was hunched over in front of the oven. I took the opportunity to check what kind of soup we were having. I stirred in the large pot and found vegetables, white chicken meat, and matzah balls. I brought one up and blew on it, then bit a piece off. Too big and too hot, burning the back of my teeth.

‘Grandma, who’s gonna eat all this?’ I was chewing and talking at the same time, and she shot me a disapproving glance. I put the rest of the ball in my mouth too and stuffed half of it in my cheek while I chewed.

‘You’re taking some home,’ she stated. ‘When‘s the last time you had a proper meal?‘

‘Yesterday. I had a burger and fries,’ I protested.

‘That’s not food.’ She put the large soup pot on the table without asking for my help and turned the oven off. I had to scoop out the soup; she was too short to look into the pot properly. I dished out a large plate for her and served myself, looking for a couple extra matzah balls. ‘No fishing,’ she warned. I dropped the ladle back in and sat down. She looked at me properly and smiled.

‘Smells good,’ I complimented to distract from my fishing. I knew I could get away with anything.

‘New shirt? _Sheyn_ ,’ she observed, reaching over the table to tug at the sleeve. I’d put my new shirt on again. The stain had come out with some water. Any residual discoloration was hidden behind the ruffle. ‘Eat.’

We had soup together, and then cabbage rolls, too many of them. I was right to bring fresh clothes, because before I knew it, it was after ten, and I was too heavy to move. We drank port wine on the couch. She asked me if I’d talked to my mom, and I had to tell her I hadn’t. We didn’t exactly see eye to eye about my dropping and moving out. I spent the night in the spare bedroom. There was something comforting about sleeping in a single bed again, duvet tucked in so tightly it smothered me. I slept soundly for almost ten hours. In the morning, I made my grandmother eggs, which she didn’t like, and I helped her order an electric kettle (see-through, with the colored lights inside), which she did like. 

 

I was checking my mailbox when I heard stumbling. Danny was trying to reverse into the door so he could pull the stroller inside. I crossed the lobby and pulled the door open, and held it as he came in.

‘Hi, beautiful,’ I chimed. I cringed at the sound of the word. I guess that was ruined for now. I tickled the little girl in the stroller. ‘Hi, Danny.’ Danny lived right next door, with his girlfriend and their baby. We got along; I was the only person in the building that didn’t complain about the baby crying until three in the morning. In return, they didn’t complain about my music. My mailbox was empty, so I locked it again and stuffed my key in my pocket, bending down to grab the front of the stroller to help Danny carry it upstairs; the elevator was out again.

‘Oh, Timmy—I took your stuff upstairs this morning. It was just sitting out in the hall,’ Danny remembered. We’d had the same mailman for a while, but since he left, it was a different guy every day. I usually got mail that wasn’t addressed to me, and packages were just dropped on the row of mailboxes. ‘It was heavy too.’ I started going through the items on my wishlist. Maybe someone had gotten me books. We arrived on the third floor, and I pushed the stroller into Danny’s apartment after he opened the door. He left it open, urging me to step inside. In the corner sat a large mailbag, packages stacked inside, waist-high. I tried not to look too surprised.

‘I took a peek, you got good taste, dude,’ he commented. I lifted the corner of the bag and revealed a shoe box. ‘You gotta be more careful with that shit though. Even I was tempted, but we ain’t the same size.’

‘Yeah, thanks, man. I need to figure something out for that,’ I confessed. ‘If you ever need someone to watch her for a couple of hours, I’m usually, uh, home. Like in the evenings and stuff.’ I gestured towards the toddler in the stroller—toddler? I guessed she could walk, but I was terrible at estimating kid’s ages. I didn’t know if it was weird for a guy to babysit his neighbor’s kid, but I always felt like I needed to at least try to return any favor. Danny seemed equally confused about my offer. It looked like he was trying to decide if we had that kind of trust already. He huffed. A smile. I was approved.

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he agreed, pointing at me as I dragged the bag out of his door. I was grateful I didn’t have to carry the thing all the way up the stairs—it _was_ heavy.

 

The worry didn’t hit me until I closed my apartment door and dropped my backpack. If these were all shoes, and the stack of boxes was waist-high, someone had spent a _lot_ of money. I hoped it wasn’t a mistake. I checked my bank app, but there weren’t any outrageous charges, apart from my own. I scratched my chin and dragged the bag into my living room. I peeled it down and took out the first box. It was a black Converse box. I knew exactly what these were. I opened it and stared at the shoes. They were yellow suede, limited edition, Tyler the Creator collection. I stepped out of my shoes and suddenly felt sand between my toes. I‘d taken a walk through the park—who knew Yeezys weren’t dustproof? I sat down and slipped into the Converse. They fit; they were comfortable, more sturdy than the shoes I’d been wearing. I tightened the shoelaces. The second box was identical. I opened it. The same pair of Converse, this time in green. I scoffed. The box underneath was also Converse. I read the label. These were the hardest to find; they were the same exact shoes, in geranium pink. I felt uncomfortable unpacking so many at once. This had to be a mistake. I scratched my hair before reaching back into the bag and pulling out two identical Gucci boxes. I heard myself swear out loud. Ace leather sneakers, both high-top, and low-top. I sat in my living room, amid two grand worth of sneakers. I realized I never even took my jacket off. I slipped it off my shoulders and hung it on the door. I stepped out of the new sneakers and put them back in their box. I stacked the boxes; two on top of each other, then three, then five. I was usually flattered whenever a present arrived, however small. Someone wanted me to have something. But this was too much at once, too expensive--exorbitant. I shoved the boxes out of the room and closed the door. I felt guilty. I needed a shower.

I checked my bank account twice more before the evening, but no money was taken out of it. Someone had really bought me all these shoes. I threw on a shirt and boxers after my shower and grabbed a boxed meal from the fridge. Not food, I heard my grandmother say. I settled on my bed and crossed my legs. I stuffed a forkful of pearl barley and grilled vegetables in my mouth and opened my laptop. I scrolled through my wishlist. I felt like something else was missing, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Surely whoever bought me this many pairs of shoes didn’t mean for me to have all of them. Maybe I was supposed to pick a pair, or two pairs, and send the rest back. Would they get their money back? Or would it come back to me in some way, as store credit?

I knew it was Monday, but I could go online for ten minutes. Maybe half an hour. It didn’t matter much what I looked like; I wasn’t going on to make money. I logged on and turned on Netflix in a different window. As expected, no familiar names showed up. It was too early, and my regulars knew I didn’t go on on Mondays. I ate the mozzarella and croutons out of my salad. A handful of guests came into the room and left again as soon as they saw it was just me, eating. My hair was still wet, dripping on my shoulders. I switched between screens, popping lettuce leaves into my mouth one by one, fishing out the rocket and spinach first. Mondays really were dead. It didn’t help that it was barely dinner time.

A soft notification rang through the soundtrack of my movie. A private message blinked.

_armandoeldistructo: hi_

I distinctly remembered the username; the big spender from Saturday.

_TimmyTim: hi_

There was no reply for a while. I chewed the stem of a baby spinach leaf. I didn’t care too much how I came across.

_armandoeldistructo: can we talk?_

The question sat uncomfortably with me. I felt like this person knew me, and I had no idea who it was. If I allowed him on private cam, would I suddenly be face to face with my father? Or some relative, or authority figure who had ‘stumbled upon me’, and was now confronting me about my actions?

_TimmyTim: What do you want to talk about?_

I was hesitant. I couldn’t make sense of his screen name, couldn’t tell where one word ended and another began. Was this a Spanish pimp, rounding up young men? Did he regret giving me a hundred dollars, feel cheated I logged off right after? Did he want his money back? Again, it took him too long to reply. I sighed and returned to Netflix, hit the space bar, tried to watch my movie. The chatroom drew me back in.

 _TimmyTim: I know you gave me a lot of money but I’m not doing anything on cam tonight,_ I clarified. His reply came quicker that time.

_armandoeldistructo: I’m not demanding anything_

And, very quickly after that:

_armandoeldistructo **:** just want to spend some time with you._

I lifted the silver necklace out of my shirt and ran it between my fingers. I felt vulnerable, knowing he was watching me trying to decide whether or not to trust him. I didn’t know why it felt so different, but having a full room watch me somehow felt like a safety net.

_TimmyTim: ok_

The private request popped up immediately after I hit enter. I accepted it, set my salad aside. It took a moment for his side of the screen to load. I sat up a little straighter, picked a scab off my jaw. I didn’t seem to be loading at all.

_armandoeldistructo: thought you said you’d be back on tuesday_

I was confused. Had he really dropped a thousand tokens without a moment of hesitation and then skimped on going full private? I checked the clock. It was ticking at nine dollars per minute. He _had_ gone full private. He’d actively turned off his microphone and camera.

‘I don’t get to see you?’ I ignored his question.

_armandoeldistructo: I’m not alone_

He was hardly the only married guy I talked to. In the past six months, I’d learned just how often people lied. About everything and nothing.And how many people told the same lies. Men told me about holidays they took by themselves, dinners they had alone, left weird omissions in anecdotes. As if I cared they had a significant other. I could hardly act as a moral compass for myself. At least he was honest. His side of the screen remained white. I tried to shrug it off. So it would be more like talking to my room than talking to an actual person. I could do this.

‘Someone sent me a bunch of shit,’ I then replied. ‘Just wanted to see if they made a mistake,’ I explained. I picked at my salad again. It was an odd feeling knowing someone was watching, but not seeing them. I couldn’t put my finger on it. When I had a couple hundred people in my room, I imagined them as an audience, not individuals watching a screen.

_armandoeldistructo: not a mistake_

‘It was you?’ I peered at his screen name again, but I was convinced I’d never seen it in my life. ‘Why the fuck would you do that?’ The last part came out almost as a whisper. My hand instinctively shot up to cover my mouth. I didn’t want to offend this complete stranger after three sentences. ‘I mean, why _five_ pairs?’

_armandoeldistructo: I wanted you to have them_

‘You could have just picked one,’ I retorted. Did I sound ungrateful? Complete strangers buying me this many shoes was just too suspicious. There had to be strings attached. Foot fetish?

_armandoeldistructo: you couldn’t pick one_

_armandoeldistructo: they were all on your list_

I laughed at that. He was right. I had gone back and forth between the colors, and every time I took one off the list, I’d instantly regretted it. I’d decided to leave it up to fate, and fate had sent me Armando, apparently. I sighed.

‘Well, thanks, I guess,’ I concluded. Had I said thank you before? Did I seem like a completely spoiled brat now? I scrunched up my face. It didn’t sit right.

_armandoeldistructo: please don’t worry about it_

_armandoeldistructo: doesn’t make a dent_

I huffed. That somehow didn’t make the situation any better. He really did come across as a druglord buying my affection.

‘Okay, well just—don’t get me anything else, okay?’ I caught myself barely looking at the screen at all. I was running out of interesting lettuce leaves, and started eating the romaine.

_armandoeldistructo: I got you one other thing_

_armandoeldistructo: nothing after that though_

_armandoeldistructo: pinky swear_

‘What else did you get?’

armandoeldistructo _: it won’t be a surprise_

‘I need to know if it’s big or not. I live in the Bronx. If I get robbed, it’ll be your fault,’ I joked. I noticed my slip-up, but hoped he would ignore it. He didn’t. 

 _armandoeldistructo: you live in_ ny _?_

I licked my lips and nodded. Fuck.

_armandoeldistructo: i’m in LA_

_armandoeldistructo: a ways!_

I smiled. His second comment suddenly made him seem completely harmless. He _was_  far away. I felt my spine relax. I picked a cherry tomato and popped it in my mouth, stuffed it in my cheek. I chewed it, watching him type.

_armandoeldistructo: Timmy’s your real name?_

I nodded, asked him what his was.

_armandoeldistructo: Armie_

What kind of name is Armie? I didn’t say it out loud, but I could tell he’d read my expression. It probably wasn’t uncommon for people to react to his name in this way.

_armandoeldistructo: short for Armand_

_armandoeldistructo: it’s a family name_

Armand was possibly even worse than Armie. As family names came, he’d been dealt a shit hand.

‘Mine’s short for Timothée, so I commiserate,’ I joked. I reached a hand between myself and the screen, only seeing myself return it, with a split second delay. Why was I sharing all this? I knew better than anyone how easy it was to find someone online with just an unusual first name and a location. Occupation helped, especially if they’d been in the military. No one liked bragging about themselves more than marines did, and all of them were signed up in some kind of buddy network. I didn’t know why I liked finding information on all these men. It was something to do during the day. I minimized our chat screen and opened a new window. I copied his username into the search bar. Google asked me if I was spelling it correctly. There were no results. It was odd for people not to have the same username on different platforms—people weren’t all that creative. I tried ‘Armie’ and ‘Los Angeles’. I got the website for the local Salvation Army, a Facebook page for the LA Recruiting Battalion,  jobs in the Army Corps of Engineers. I pursed my lips, chewed the inside of my cheek. I closed the screen again and went back to our conversation. I had to remind myself there was only one person on the other side, and if I didn’t talk, they were just watching me google them. ‘So I really don’t get to see you?’ Putting a face with a name always helped.

_armandoeldistructo: maybe sometime_

_armandoeldistructo: can’t talk right now_

‘What kind of work do you do that you have time to chat to guys on the other end of the country in the middle of the day?’ I put my salad aside. It had gone room temperature and I felt myself getting nauseous from chewing all the lettuce for too long.

_armandoeldistructo: family business, i work from home a lot_

_armandoeldistructo: the office never closes_

‘I can relate,’ I sighed. I was working right now. My eyes shot up as soon as I noticed what I’d said. I hoped he didn’t take offense. There was a loud knock at my door. ‘One sec, there’s someone at the door,’ I excused myself.

I didn’t have any pants on, so I just opened the door a crack and peered out. Danny stood in the hallway. He had a little note in his hand, a hesitant smile on his face. Danny was cute. He had large hands with palms much paler than his skin.

‘Am I interrupting?’

I opened the door a little more. So he saw me in my boxer shorts. My wet hair was explanation enough.

‘No, I was just—on the phone,’ I half-lied.

‘Right.’ He seemed to hesitate again. ‘About what you offered before—That wasn’t a joke, right?’

‘About babysitting? No, of course not,’ I assured him.

‘Right, right.’ He held out the note. ‘I was wondering if you could pick Kiki up from daycare tomorrow afternoon.’ Kiki was short for Kyara. I’d only ever heard them use her full name once. ‘It’ll just be for an hour, I have to do inventory at the store and Maya doesn’t get off until six. I just don’t want to leave her there so long, we just got into this routine, you know,’ he rambled. He seemed to be adding apology upon apology, before I'd even objected. I honestly didn’t mind

‘Danny, don’t worry about it.’ I took the note from him and unfolded it. It had the name and address of a daycare. It was only a few blocks away too. A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders.

‘Okay, cool. Thanks, man. I’ll let them know in the morning that you’ll be picking her up. Her stroller will be there.’ I nodded. ‘Alright. Enjoy your evening. Thanks again,’ Danny concluded. I shot him my most genuine smile, because I was—genuine.

I closed the door and walked back into the room, watched my laptop from the doorway. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Him turning the camera on while I answered the door? He hadn’t closed the conversation. He was video chatting with a bed, without complaint, the timer still running. I wondered how much he could hear. Had he heard my bare feet on the hardwood floors? Who was this guy? Two grand doesn’t make a dent, family name, family business. I couldn’t gauge him. He hadn’t asked anything remotely sexual, hadn’t commented on my appearance, hadn’t asked anything of me. It had been almost forty minutes. I dropped myself back on the bed.

‘I’m back,’ I announced.

 _armandoeldistructo: i_ _can see that_

The reply came immediately; he hadn’t closed the window like I had.

‘You really won’t come on camera? You could still chat,’ I offered.

_armandoeldistructo: not today_

I tried to shrug it off. It wasn’t a definite no. 

‘So tell me what else you got me,’ I grinned.

 

The books arrived the next morning. Armie had bought me the collected works of Bertolt Brecht, bound in leather. Of all the things on my list, _this_ was what he’d chosen. That, and the obscene amount of shoes, of course. I carried the case upstairs myself. I started reading in _The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui_ that morning, simply because I’d always enjoyed the title. I was sure any of my friends could find more sophisticated reasons to read the play. The relevance of it in the current political landscape; the subtleties of fascism rising to power. I felt confirmed in my choice to drop out. I just wanted to act. Armie confessed he’d dropped out too, but even earlier than I had. He told me I was smart, that I could have handled university, but that I had the perfect face for acting. It was the first time he commented on my looks.

I got used to talking only to myself on camera, and found it therapeutic. I started to recognize when I was bullshitting, and managed to confront myself. I talked about high school, small roles, failed auditions. He told me his family supported the arts. He had a wife, small kids, a dog. Difficult relationship with his parents. I called my mom the next morning. I picked up Kiki from daycare twice that week, and again the week after that. I told him about her. I told him what I had for breakfast and lunch, and had dinner when he came online to join me. I would have assumed he was just desperate for some friendship, if it wasn’t for the subtle remarks he started making about my appearance. About my hair, my clothes, the necklace I wore. The later it got, the more daring; Armie threw in comments about my fingers, my eyes, my lips, my neck. He filled my head. I didn’t dare add up how much he was spending every time we talked. He never mentioned the money.

 

I’d become a babysitter slash camboy. As soon as Maya picked up Kiki, I was online. As soon as I was online, I received a call. One-way, as usual. We talked for an hour until he told me he needed to head into a meeting. I had my legs wrapped in my duvet. My fingers were a little cold.

_armandoeldistructo: maybe i’ll talk to you later?_

I shrugged.

‘I don’t know how long I’ll be on today. It’s getting pretty cold here. I might just watch a movie or something,’ I mumbled. I knew I’d be online later to see if he was.

_armandoeldistructo: i was thinking_

_armandoeldistructo: we could talk over text message_

I mulled it over in my head. Smiled, to let him know I wasn’t completely against the idea. But I couldn’t. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t, so I wouldn’t.

_armandoeldistructo: i just hate waiting around all day to talk to you_

I sighed. He was making things very difficult. I carefully shook my head, it was almost unnoticeable on camera.

_armandoeldistructo: just think about it ok?_

_armandoeldistructo: stay warm_

 

I didn’t talk to him later that night, and waited around for him the next day. He didn’t show up. I logged off early, went to bed early, woke up early. I went for a jog, didn’t wear my Yeezys as I’d learned the gravel seeped through. It was barely light outside. I made it through half an hour before I got too cold and too annoyed. We'd reached this annoying season between summer and fall, and the mornings turned out to be freezing. On my way back into the building, I caught the mailman on his way out. I found a box, perched on top of the row of mailboxes again. It was light. I took it upstairs, ripped it open and found a Gucci bag. I pulled the ribbon, took out the gift box inside and opened it. A card fell out. _‘Stay warm’_ , it simply read. Instead of the sender’s name was a series of digits; his phone number. I put it aside, lifted the paper and found a sweater. It was knitted, off-white, with a red drawing of a lamb on the front. I knew this wasn’t on my wishlist. He’d gone rogue, and right on the money. I pulled it over my head and put my arms in the sleeves. It fit, perhaps a little tighter than I would have picked for myself. I smoothed my hands over the front and looked at the card again. I couldn’t. I folded it in half and tucked it back in the box.

It took me approximately ninety seconds to get out of the shower—and drip all over the room—to retrieve the card and save the number in my phone. I licked my lips and quickly typed a message.

_thanks for the gift, i love it_

Was love too strong a word? I did love it. I added an emoji for good measure. Not a kissy face, just a smile. It was hard to be on the typing end. I let my thumb hover over the screen for a moment before sending it. I brushed my teeth, realized I’d skipped breakfast, and made myself some coffee. I checked my phone again. My message was blue and delivered, but there was no reply. I was three hours ahead after all.

The morning dragged on. I didn’t eat because we usually went out for Saturday brunch. Brunch in our book was more like lunch already, and then I got a text from Menno asking if we could meet a little later, because he’d had a rough Friday night. I was starving by the time we got there, and ordered way too much food for myself. Lukas brought a guy from class I’d heard him talk about a few times. Armie didn’t text.

I shoved my plate away to stop myself from eating any more.

‘I need a smoke,’ Menno croaked. He was still hungover, and the heavy meal had turned him a slightly gray color.

‘I’ll join you,’ I sighed.

Menno lit a cigarette and offered me one. I declined. He took a long drag and groaned as he exhaled.

‘Since when are cars so fucking loud?’ he complained. ‘Where is everyone going? It’s Saturday,’ he moaned. I laughed, took the cigarette from between his fingers and took a drag myself. It tickled the back of my throat. ‘Cute sweater,’ he then commented, apparently done with his whining.

‘Thanks,’ I beamed, ran my hand over the lamb again.

‘Hey, can I ask you something?’ Menno sounded sincere.

‘I don’t think we’re ready to get married, man. I don’t know, we’re just not quite there yet,’ I joked. I patted him on the chest and handed him his cigarette back. He laughed.

‘Very funny. Did you meet anyone new lately, by the way?’ _By the way_. As if this wasn’t just another perfectly aimed quest for gossip.

‘Not really,’ I shrugged. I didn't meet anyone in the sense that he meant.

He started a vague story about some fundraiser he was attending when the screen on my iPhone lit up. Menno always acted like he was this free bohemian type, while in fact he never missed a deadline. He did a bunch of extra work on the side, writing for the faculty’s newspaper and updating their website. I listened to him ease into a request to borrow money from me for a suit. A rented tux just wouldn’t be right for the event, it would be an investment. I glanced down at my phone and read the push message on the screen.

_Armie: Glad you like it. How’s your day?_

I smiled, scratched my bottom lip with my teeth in an attempt to conceal the stupid grin. It clearly didn't work.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Menno interrupted his speech.

‘Nothing,’ I mumbled.

‘No?’

‘Just this guy I’ve been talking to; it’s nothing,’ I repeated. He mirrored my grin.

‘Oh come on, you know how entertained I am by your stories,’ he nagged. 'You have more characters than Game of Thrones.' I sighed, rolled my eyes, prepared to round off the topic in three sentences.

‘His name is Armie, and we’ve only been talking for a few weeks, and he lives in California so nothing’s gonna happen anyway,’ I managed on one exhale. I stuffed my phone in the front pocket of my jeans, as if that would close the case.

‘He lives in California? How did you—‘ He closed his mouth and tilted his head. ‘You met him online? You said you wouldn’t,’ he reprimanded. I inflated my cheeks. I was glad Lukas wasn’t outside with us. ‘What kind of name is Armie, anyway?’

‘It’s a family name,’ I explained. Why did it feel like I was defending him? His name had grown on me. 

‘Does he have a big dick at least?’

‘Dude.’

‘I’m just saying, there must be something that made you make an exception,’ he pushed. I didn’t have an answer to that.

‘If you must know, I haven’t seen his dick. He doesn’t cam. We've just talked.’

‘Boo. So for all you know, this guy is like seventy years old,’ he concluded.

‘Sometimes you just have to trust people,’ I shrugged. Why him though? I knew everyone always lied.

‘How romantic.’Menno put his cigarette out with his shoe and turned to head back inside.

‘Please don’t mention this to Lukas,’ I begged. ‘I’ll buy you a suit.' 

‘Deal.’

 

_Armie trudged through the supermarket. He didn’t need that much, so he hadn’t grabbed a cart. The supermarket was disgustingly crowded. He hated shopping on Saturdays, but if he wanted banana bread, he needed to go out for bananas. He wanted the banana bread. Did they have chocolate chips? Those were essential. Armie grabbed a bag to make sure. He pulled his phone out as he felt it vibrate. There were three messages on his lockscreen._

Elizabeth: Bring butter too

Elizabeth: +extra eggs

_The last one only had a number over it._

Having lunch with nosy friends, how’s yours?

_It had arrived twenty minutes ago. An old lady rammed her cart into his shins. Armie apologized to her, left the aisle and grabbed two sticks of butter and a dozen eggs. It was hard to balance the items—all of them odd shapes—in one arm to type a reply._

Armie: Grocery shopping. Nosy?

_Armie smiled at two people at the checkout with a week’s worth of shopping in their cart. One of them let him cut in line. He dropped his groceries on the conveyor belt and wrote out another text._

Armie: Thanks for adding me btw. Feels good to talk to you like this.

_He wasn’t above double texting. Armie wore his heart on his sleeve; if he liked you, you’d be informed. He just hoped he wasn’t weirding Timmy out. It felt closer, to have him on his phone. He slipped his phone into his pocket. To have him so close to his skin. He paid for his groceries and left the store, got back into his car and dropped his stuff in the passenger seat. He pulled his phone out again, opened his messages._

Timmy: It does. Just boystalk

_Boys talk? The smiley at the end of the message didn’t help him any further. Winky eye with the tongue out. He was relieved to see three dots appear. Timmy didn’t mind double texting either. Armie dropped his phone in his lap and pressed the start button in his car, turned the heating on._

Timmy: Telling me to be careful. Asking about your dick.

_Armie scoffed._

Armie: Ha. What did you tell them?

_He looked up and through the window. His phone buzzed way too quickly._

Timmy: Told them i haven’t had the pleasure

_This was a blatant request for a dick pic if ever he’d seen one. They’d never steered the conversation in this direction. Armie felt like he couldn’t take his voyeurism quite that far yet. This had leveled the playing field. On the other hand, the first visual he shared with Timmy just couldn’t be a photo of his dick._

Armie: Is this a boozy lunch you’re having?

_He tugged on the crotch of his jeans. They were suddenly a little snug._

Timmy: Not particularly. I’m almost home by now

_And then:_

Timmy: I’m nosy too

_There was no way to misunderstand this. Armie genuinely considered unzipping and snapping a pic, but Timmy beat him to it. A photo loaded; Timmy from the chin down, pale neck, Gucci sweater, a sliver of skin, dark boxers, thighs._

Timmy: Home.

_‘Fuck,’ Armie sighed. He’d thought the sweater would look cute on him. It looked hot._

Armie: Jesus.

_Armie thought that was sufficient. It was._

Timmy: More? Where are you?

_He was replying embarrassingly fast, but at least he wasn’t alone in this._

Armie: Please. I’m in the car.

_A second photo appeared. Same frame, Timmy’s hand tucked under the elastic band of his boxers, only his thumb sticking out. His fingers were lean and pale, pink towards the tips. They looked perpetually cold. Armie felt reassured in his decision to get him the sweater. He was staring at the photo for so long he forgot to reply to it. Another one followed and left Armie’s mouth dry. It had the bottom half of Timmy’s face; the tip of his nose, his lips glossy, cheeks hollowed, two fingers in this mouth._

Timmy: Not driving i hope. Getting off. Wanna see?

_Armie repeated his ‘please’. He felt like he was bad at this. Timmy didn’t seem to notice or care._

Timmy: Why didn’t you ask me before?

_Because he was shy. Because he didn't know how. Because he felt it was rude. Because he loved to just watch Timmy talk for hours. Because he never wanted their chats to end._

Armie: Because I’m a stupid, stupid man _,_ _he settled on._

_He could imagine Timmy’s laugh. This dumb guffaw he did when he thought something was really funny._

Timmy: Why can’t i see you?

 _His message came with a slight delay. Imagining him trying to type with his left hand made Armie’s dick hard instantly. He looked out the window again. People were minding their own business. They didn’t care what he was doing in his car. The windows on the sides were tinted, and the car was large enough that you couldn’t really look in from the front. He ripped the fly of his jeans open and wedged a hand down his boxers. He pulled his dick out, wrapped a hand around the base and squeezed. With a groan, he loosened his grip._ Not. Here. _He opened his camera, took a photo, and sent it. There was a mixture of instant regret and shame. He tugged his shirt down over his crotch.  Why did this kid get him so hard he wanted to jerk off in the middle of a crowded parking lot?_

Timmy: Shit shit shit

Timmy: Need that

_Armie loved the cut-up, basic replies. He received another photo. Timmy’s mouth was open, his tongue pink and glistening. His sweater was bunched up towards his chest, a hand wrapped around his dick. Armie swallowed. The regret subsided. He hit the round icon with the capital 'T' on top of their conversation and looked at the small blue phone. He tapped it. It rang once, through the speakers in his car. Timmy picked up but didn’t answer. Armie just heard a sigh. It sounded ragged, but that could have been his imagination._

_‘I wanna listen to you,’ he then explained himself. ‘Are you close?’_

_‘Fuck.’ There was a strangled moan on the other line that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Timmy came. The sound came out the speakers in Armie's doors, from behind him, and yet it smacked him right in the face. He wanted to bathe in it. It went quiet again until a soft laugh echoed through his car. ‘Fuck. I thought I got some on my sweater.’ Timmy’s voice was hoarse, and the chuckle that followed tickled his ears. Armie laughed in reply._

_‘You’re—‘ He didn’t have an ending to that sentence. It was okay. Timmy interrupted him._

_‘I need to go clean up. I’ll talk to you later?’_

_‘Uh, yes. I think so. Definitely,’ he decided._

_Timmy hung up. The car went silent. Armie’s chocolate chips were melting in the heated front seat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter with this much chatting and texting, I promise!


	3. Your humble flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna do that Date Night Challenge and then realized this is a datenight of sorts that I hadn't finished. I guess I'll do datenight next? This is twice as long as I intended it to be.

 

 

‘Yes, fuck yourself. Exactly like that.’ He spoke under his breath, his words hasty and slurred. Ken had come back from bowling slightly tipsy. I enjoyed him like that. He was easy to talk to, easy to flirt with. Things evolved quickly. He had me on my knees, fucking myself with a clear silicon dildo; he was easy to please when it came to toys. Anything to fuck myself with, and a hand around my dick would do.

‘Oh, shit,’ I hissed. I was close, fucking myself deeper, all the way down to the thick base of the dildo. I knew I’d probably regret being this greedy later, but I didn’t care. I had a hard time keeping my eyes open so I just closed them and leaned my face into my duvet. I could go without breathing for a minute or so while I finished myself.

‘Yeah? Is that good?’

‘Mm-hm,’ I replied.

‘You wanna come for me?’

‘Mm-hm.’

‘Show me.’

This kept happening; as soon as I got close to getting off, my mind raced, then cleared, and all that was left was Armie’s voice. _Are you close?_ rumbled in my ears. I tried to bend Ken’s words into his voice, and repeated them to myself. I imagined it was him telling me what to do, him fucking me. I dug my toes into the bed and came, slowly pulling the dildo out, feeling myself raw. I shivered.

After I cleaned up and put on a fresh shirt, I set up camp in my room with my book. I was halfway through the third book in my new collection; they were thin enough even to slip into my coat pocket if I didn’t feel like lugging my backpack around. I’d on many occasions wished I understood German so I could read the original, and realized there was nothing stopping me from taking some classes. I’d told Armie, who was behind the idea. I only had to wait about half an hour before he showed up; midnight his time was our time. A private message flashed, brought an uncontrollable grin to my face. I dogeared my book and put it aside. Armie took that as a sign that I wasn’t busy.

_armandoeldistructo: Any plans with grandma tomorrow?_

‘I think I might take her out tomorrow, someplace nice,’ I shrugged. I was loaded. Even after I’d offered just to continue our conversations via text message, Armie had insisted we still talk on cam in the evenings. Sometimes just for fifteen or twenty minutes. He said he enjoyed watching me talk about my day, and that if he didn’t have my face or hands to look at, my story was never complete. A twenty-minute call still amounted to over a hundred dollars for me. I went online in my room, but I had to admit I had lost interest in everyone else a little. I hoped it didn’t show too much. 

 _armandoeldistructo: maybe I can take you out on friday_  
_armandoeldistructo: someplace nice_

I gaped at the screen for a moment.

‘You’re asking me out?’ I scratched my hairline in an attempt to conceal my face a little; I knew my face wouldn’t be able to conceal anything on its own.

 _armandoeldistructo: i’m in DC for meetings this coming week_  
_armandoeldistructo: NYC the week after that_  
_armandoeldistructo: thought I’d come on the weekend_

I licked my lips and gave him a wide grin. It didn’t want it to seem like I was shooting him down without a thought. Because it was a hard no, even though my gut was screaming ' _yes, yes, yes'_. I wrinkled my nose.

‘I—it’s gotta be no,’ I mumbled. The ‘ooo’ on ‘no’ dragged out. ‘I really can’t, I promised myself and—some people. They’d kill me,’ I added. I didn’t want to hurt him. Why were we talking like this if it wasn’t gonna end in us meeting? I didn’t want him to go.

_armandoeldistructo: that’s fair_

‘Sorry,’ I muttered. Had I said sorry before? I was _so_ sorry. I rubbed my face.

 _armandoeldistructo: no worries_  
_armandoeldistructo: i can videochat from DC on monday_  
_armandoeldistructo: i’ll be alone_

‘Are you trying to get me to change my mind?’ Because it was working. Seeing him, hearing him again would lower my inhibitions for sure. My gut would scream louder. I knew I had no willpower. The way he so carelessly let slip that, oh, he would finally show me his face had me way too excited already.

_armandoeldistructo: if seeing my mug changes your mind, your mind was there in the first place_

I laughed.

‘I’m sure you’re being modest. You’re thirty and married for like twenty-five years. She saw something she liked and locked that shit down,’ I joked. I smacked my hands together, from heel to fingertips.

_armandoeldistructo: i’ll let you decide_

 

It was the slowest Sunday I’d ever experienced. My grandma told me four separate times to stop wiggling my knee, because I was making the whole table shake. I apologized each time and started again immediately after. I spent an hour and a half in CVS on Monday, just wandering through the aisles looking at stuff I didn’t have yet, and didn’t need either. I still somehow spent over a hundred dollars. It took me an hour to unpack everything I bought and to read all the descriptions; skincare, haircare, weird turban towel to tuck my hair in after showering. It didn’t distract me for very long. I couldn’t read without my thoughts straying every two minutes, so I logged on early. At least I wouldn’t have to wait as long as usual, because Armie had moved into my timezone. I talked on cam for about an hour—or forty-seven dollars worth—until he showed up. I shot him a private message. 

_TimmyTim: :*_

It was all I could come up with. I licked my lips, dragged my teeth over them.

_armandoeldistructo: hey timmytim_

My arms involuntarily raised over my head in a half-wave. I clasped my hands together behind my head to keep them from going into a full wave. I grinned at the screen and saw myself; I looked like an idiot.

_armandoeldistructo: you ready for me?_

I’d been ready. 

Armie’s side of the screen loaded immediately—good hotel wifi. I blinked a couple of times, my brain slow to comprehend that this was _him_. He didn’t look deformed or old, or creepy. He was handsome, painfully so. I felt incompetent looking at him until I realized this was the first time I was seeing him, and not the other way around. He’d had weeks to be disappointed in me and back out. He hadn’t.

‘Hi,’ then came softly. Armie had a row of what seemed like a hundred teeth. All white and uniform, apart from his canines. They stuck out, but not like a sore thumb. Like a very, very pleasant thumb. My train of thought rattled on like my mouth usually did. Nothing came out of my mouth this time. I pursed my lips a few times, but just pulled them into a smile. His face had soft angles, but a prominent chin, disguised by a dirty stubble. His lips were surprisingly plump for a man’s, and he had a wide cupid’s bow. I felt an urge to sink my index finger into it. His hair was combed back—not too tight—and it curled up once, just below his ears. His eyes were kind. Playful, almost like a child’s.

‘Hi,’ I finally replied. ‘Good to see you.’

I was tongue-tied. Armie shifted on his bed, apparently crossing his legs. His chest came into view, and then out again. He wore a white tee. There was a moment of static coming from his end. I knew there was no static on my end; I had the earphones. That did mean he could practically hear me breathe, and I felt my chest rising and falling rather rapidly.

‘God, it’s weird to talk like this,’ he let out. I loved his voice, and my memory had preserved only a two-dimensional version of it. It was so low it felt like it reverberated at my body’s frequency. It was deep and fruity. Did he smoke? I knew he liked his liquor. His voice was dripping in it. 

‘So, I’ll talk,’ I decided. And I did. I caught my mouth moving on my side of the screen. I talked about my book, dinner with grandma, shopping, plans for the week. I showed him the weird micro-fiber turban and felt like an old man marveling at all this new technology. He laughed, and I loved his laugh. I was suddenly very aware of how much of my personal life I was sharing with him. I kept forgetting to look at him, because I was so used to having no one there. When I did glance over, he always noticed. Armie had the palm of his hand clasped over his mouth, his thumb under his jaw, circling in his beard—calming himself? Did he not enjoy this? He had his eyebrows raised, three lines in his forehead as he watched me. It was distracting.‘Do you always look like this when you’re watching me?’ I interrupted myself.

He raised his face out of his hand and gave me a clear and modulated ‘yeah’, before lowering his chin again. I didn’t know what to say to that.

‘You just need like three words and you’re gone for the next ten minutes. I love it,’ he explained. He lowered his hand altogether, apparently also realizing this was more of a two-way conversation now. ‘Cute shirt,’ he then added. I was wearing a black short-sleeved button-up shirt with little red hearts on it. It _was_ cute. 

‘Thanks,’ I replied awkwardly, lifting the fabric from my shoulders between my fingertips.

‘Is that what you’re gonna wear on Friday?’

‘My friends are gonna kill me.’

It was a yes in disguise. He caught it. His smile was back.

 

 

‘Wait. You _both_ got suits?’

Lukas had been waiting for us for ages. The wait was somewhat explained by the garment bags Menno and I brought. 

‘Well, I got Timmy a ticket for Saturday,’ Menno explained my need for a suit. ‘And they were looking at us like we couldn’t afford them,’ he then cried out, offended.

‘You _can’t_ afford them,’ Lukas replied pointedly.

‘Well, they shouldn’t just assume,’ Menno defended himself. We ordered our food.

‘How did you get Timmy in by the way? I thought it was invitation only,’ Lukas then asked, referring to the fundraiser. I didn’t really wanna go, but understood that this was Menno’s way of paying me back—because he was definitely not gonna pay me back in any other way. Plus, I’d been promised there would be an open bar.

‘I heard some people got ‘and guest’ on their invite so I just RSVP’ed with plus one and I think they were too polite to correct me,’ Menno beamed. He was having a great day. I got him a bright blue suit, off the rack, but sharp-looking nonetheless. It went well with his red hair. He’d made me try on a similar one in green. I zipped the bag open and pulled a sleeve out to show the color.

‘Maybe I’ll give it a test run on my date on Friday,’ I muttered casually. I waited for their nickel to drop, and when it did, the reactions were split. Lukas seemed delighted. Menno was more hesitant for once.

‘Timmy,’ he began. I raised my hand to stop him.

‘Look.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I’m telling you this because I don’t wanna lie to you,’ I started. That was clearly the wrong way to go. Menno leaned back in his chair and sighed. Lukas had no idea what was going on. ‘I’m going out on Friday with a guy I met on cam,’ I continued.

‘ _God_ , Timmy—‘

‘No,’ I interrupted again, ‘I’m not asking you to talk me out of this. I’m telling you because I want you to know who I’m going out with and where I’m going,’ I explained.

‘So that when you go missing we know which direction to point the police in?’ Lukas crossed his arms and rolled his eyes at me. I bit my lip. I knew he hated it that I wasn’t going along with his argument. There was no argument. I’d made up my mind.

‘His name is Armie, and he’s not old, and he’s not disgusting, and he’s here for work, and we’re going out for dinner. That’s it,’ I summed up. There was a calibrated silence from the other side of the table. For once, even Menno didn’t seem to be on my side. 

‘Okay,’ Lukas finally decided. He seemed to mull all of that over for a moment before asking me a question. ‘So, how do you know it’s just dinner?’ Good point. I didn’t know. Menno replied for me.

‘It’s not like that; Timmy’s never even seen this guy’s dick,’ he stated matter-of-factly. ‘Trust me, I fished,’ he added. I pursed my lips. I was too quiet. 

‘You have. You’ve seen it,’ Lukas concluded. ‘God, Timmy,’ he repeated. He sounded like my dad. ‘For all you know this guy has a wife and kids stashed away somewhere.’ Again, I was too quiet. ‘Oh, god. You _know_ he has a wife and kids?’

‘ _Timmy_ ,’ Menno jumped on board. He loved the stories, but I seemed to have reached my limit even with him. 

Our drinks arrived right on time to cut the tension a little. I took a sip and then realized they weren’t saying anything until I talked.

‘As I said. We’re going out for dinner,’ I repeated. ‘That’s it.’ I’d told them I didn’t want to lie, yet I was already lying my ass off. I prayed to God that wasn’t it. I wanted him all over me. I licked my lips at the thought and poked my straw in my crushed ice. Guys being married had never been a problem for me, and I wasn’t about to let it get in my way now. They realized their resistance was futile, and Menno was first to decide any more discussion would ruin our meal.

‘I’m so hungry,’ he groaned.

‘It seems like all we do as friends lately is eat and shop,’ Lukas noted.

‘That’s all I _ever_ do,’ I let out indignantly. Menno laughed.

‘We should start a new hobby together,’ Lukas suggested.

‘Like a book club?’ I was ready to dig my book out of my pocket.

‘Nah-ah,’ Menno shook his head. ‘I don’t have any time to read anything that’s not part of the curriculum.’ He downed half his cocktail. The waitress arrived back at our table with appetizers.

‘Okay. What do you have time for?’ Lukas took a plate from her and shoved towards the middle of the table; it was a sharing platter.

‘Eating,’ Menno replied.

 

 

I decided not to wear the suit on Friday. I pulled half my closet off its hanger. I wanted to wear the pink shoes. They would look good with the suit, but I wasn’t sure where we were going. I decided to go with the sweater he sent me, dark jeans, pinks sneakers. Pink sneakers? Boots. Maybe he’d take me someplace nice. I stashed everything else back in the closet and doused myself in Hermès. Menno had assured me their scents were unisex.

I took the train into the city and followed the directions Armie texted me. Somehow I still wasn’t entirely sure I’d find him at the end of those directions. He sent me towards a hotel, promised me he’d meet me outside, and we’d walk to the restaurant together. It would give us time to talk, arrive as a team.

I could tell he wasn’t a local as soon as I caught a glimpse of him; Armie was a hundred yards in front of me on the sidewalk, phone in hand, staring in the opposite direction. I suddenly had a very strong fight or flight response. He hadn’t seen me. It would be easy to block his number, block him on cam, turn around, walk the other way, pretend I’d never seen him. I checked my phone one last time. I’d received a single kissy smiley from Menno, meaning ‘thinking of you’, ‘have fun’, ‘be safe’, or a combination of the three. I pocketed my phone after putting it on silent. As I got closer, I realized people were looking at him. Men looked slightly annoyed at his height when they passed him, because, _man_ , he was tall. Women looked up, looked straight ahead, kept walking. Hoping? That he would turn around and follow the curve of their bodies with his eyes. A dark-haired, skinny girl seemed to catch his eye. He turned as she walked by, and she seemed to grow even shorter under his watch. He turned towards me and, as soon as he spotted me, broke into a bright smile. He slipped his phone into his coat pocket and turned his palms towards me. I dropped my head. _Fuck_. He was a real person. The closer I got, the taller he became, until he raised one arm and pulled me into a hug. I closed both arms around him. Smelled him. He was warm.

‘You came,’ Armie whispered. He seemed so surprised. ‘You’re tall,’ he commented when I took a step back.

‘ _I’m_ tall?’ 

‘Yeah, I mean—‘ he gestured towards the rest of the street. True, compared to them, I was tall. ‘On the screen, you’re this big,’ he further explained himself. He held up his thumb and index finger and, as he brought his hand down, placed it on the small of my back, watching my face to see if that was alright. I shot him a smile, suddenly realizing my teeth chattered. I was nervous, but I was also freezing. It was colder than when I’d left home, and I was only wearing a short jacket over my sweater. _It doesn’t cover your kidneys_ , I heard my grandma say. I could have closed my jacket, but that would have ruined the whole outfit. ‘You okay?’

I nodded. We started walking, slowly. He wasn’t a local, but he knew where he was headed. 

‘Just—colder than expected,’ I confessed. That was always the most humiliating; having to confess I hadn't dressed appropriately. Armie slipped his arms out of his coat and draped it over my shoulders. It was heavy. He wore a suit. He seemed very pleased with himself and with the fact that I was wearing his coat.

‘Cold hands?’ He was already reaching into his own coat—fair game I guessed—and held my hand. It must have been freezing, because his was scorching. He didn’t exactly hold my hand as if we were walking hand in hand; he cupped mine in his, touching as much of it as possible.

‘Am I too casual?’ I took another look at his navy suit, light blue shirt underneath. At least he wasn’t wearing a tie. I was in jeans though. Armie just snorted.

‘That’s a two-thousand dollar sweater,’ he stated. He’d know; he paid for it. I laughed. When we reached the corner, I shrugged his coat off my shoulders and handed it back to him. It was impossibly heavy, and I felt this was more of an end-of-the-evening kind of move.

‘I don’t want you to get cold too; that’d be counterproductive,’ I explained myself. Armie smiled, draped the coat back over his own shoulders and took my hand again. Less apologetic this time, holding my middle and ring finger in his palm. His hands were warm and dry, and the scent from his coat lingered on my jacket.

‘Well, it’s not far anyway,’ Armie offered. I caught him glancing down at me on the way. I was annoyed at how dark it was; I couldn’t see his eyes properly, or the color of his hair.

I realized what kind of person he was when we entered the restaurant. With a hand on my back, he somehow managed to hold me back as he walked up to the maître d’. He recognized him straight away, and I realized I could have walked in wearing basketball shorts as long as I was his company. He was probably a great tipper. I had enough cash in my wallet to pay for an expensive meal. I never wanted to assume anything, but I assumed I didn’t bring enough for a place like this. I scanned the menu for some kind of pasta dish; they were usually the most economical in restaurants where they gave you three glasses and two sets of cutlery. Armie was going over the wine menu. I caught him stealing glances again. 

‘Is this okay?’ He finally asked.

‘It—looks really good,’ I nodded. 

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, pulled his chair in. ‘I don’t know if this is like—controversial,’ he started. ‘But I don’t really give a fuck about what wine goes with what course,’ he admitted. I scoffed at his sudden change in language. I loved him foul-mouthed. ‘Is it okay if we just get some rosé?’ He looked as if he’d just told me an embarrassing secret. He’d gone a delightful shade of pink. I laughed, it came out as a cackle, and I covered my mouth.

‘Rosé is great,’ I agreed. 

‘I mean—I wouldn’t say no to any alcohol that’s offered to me, but if I get the choice,’ he explained himself. ‘Wow, that came out wrong. I swear I’m not an alcoholic.’ It was his turn to cover his face. He pinched his forehead between his thumb and forefinger so all I saw was a row of frown lines.

‘Okay— _Denial_ ,’ I mimicked. Armie laughed. I loved the lines by his eyes and how many of his molars I could see.

‘Oh man, we’ve been on a _Finding Nemo_ kick at home,’ he remembered.

The waiter came to take our orders and we agreed on no starters—were we in a rush? I asked what pasta dish he would recommend. It turned out to be the lobster tail. Armie got a steak. Since he was mostly just eating the meat, I started stealing some of his fries. _Finding Nemo_ lead us to talk about other movies. I felt comfortable enough to admit to some of the big budget flicks I loved. He liked classic westerns. Action movies. Hate-watched all of the _The_   _Fast and the Furious_ movies and secretly enjoyed them. It was unforced, I laughed with my mouth full, he filled up my glass, twisted a fork in my plate. Apart from the handholding earlier, I wasn’t sure he meant this to be anything more than a dinner between friends though. We were getting to know each other. I was okay with that.

Armie didn’t let me pay for my half of the meal, but he wasn’t showy about it. He had asked me out, it was only natural he paid. I could pay next time. I told him we’d get hot dogs. He was okay with that. 

 

It was even colder after dinner. Armie didn’t offer me his coat again, although I could really use it now. He didn’t touch my hand again. I felt like he’d made a decision over dinner. We walked slowly, aimlessly.

‘Do you wanna get a drink or something?’ Armie finally suggested.

‘Good job convincing me you don’t have a problem,’ I teased. ‘But I should really think about heading home. It’s a ways.’ I used his words. He noticed.

‘I should make sure you get home safe,’ he decided. ‘I can get you a car.’

‘That’s really okay.’ I realized I was leading now, subconsciously already walking towards a subway station. Armie was a step behind me.

‘Can I walk with you?’

‘I’m taking the train,’ I replied, pointing towards the station that was now in viewing distance. Armie took one big stride to catch up and wedged his index finger in the back pocket of my jeans. 

‘ _We’re_ taking the train,’ he corrected.

 

I had clearly read him all wrong. Maybe he was just one of those people who flirted by being himself, being friendly, laughing a lot. He’d never have to do any actual flirting because of his face. In his defense, it worked. The train home was crowded, but it didn’t matter. I had crossed my arms around a pole, keeping myself upright. Armie’s hand was wrapped around the same pole, his foot touching the outside of mine. He had three fingertips placed on the ceiling of the train to steady himself. It was the sexiest non-sexual gesture I’d seen in ages. We were in a bubble. I knew for sure that I wasn’t drunk, but I felt lightheaded. I caught myself staring at his lips instead of listening while he talked. He must have noticed, because he stopped talking and smiled. He tilted his chin down slightly, so I tilted mine up in response. His lips grazed mine for just a moment. I exhaled through my nose. He placed a kiss on my lips, and another one, and another one. Polite, but promising.

‘Is that okay?’ he asked. I nodded. His body seemed to fold around the pole to curve into mine. His lips rested on my forehead for a moment—a kiss goodnight?

Armie seemed to be trying out all the different ways to hold my hand as we walked towards my building; holding my whole hand, then just my pinky, locking thumbs, letting me hold his hand. Eventually, he wrapped a hand around my wrist, and let his index finger trace circles in the palm of my hand. It was different, but I didn’t mind it. It was the most ill-advised thing to go out with a stranger from the internet, find out he was half a foot taller than me and twice as heavy, and wanting nothing more than to invite him up to my place. I did it anyway. I rubbed my lips together, smacked them as I released.

‘Do you wanna come up for a little bit? Have some ice cream or something?’ I scratched the back of my head. 

‘I’d kill for some ice cream,’ Armie replied. I scrunched up my nose at the thought of him killing me. My friends would have been right, but I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed about it, because I would be dead. I told him he wouldn’t have to kill, but there’d be some stair climbing involved.

‘There’s an elevator right there,’ Armie complained when we reached my floor.

‘Yeah,’ I sighed, slightly out of breath. The stairs were working wonders on my legs though. ‘We all pay for it every month, but it hasn’t actually worked for more than like five consecutive days at a time,’ I explained.

‘Sucks,’ he simply said, and I memorized another expression I loved. His teeth together, only his lips forming the word. His eyes were always smiling, especially when he knew he was about to say something funny. I unlocked the door and went inside, kicked my boots off. He followed my lead and untied the laces on his dress shoes. I wanted to head into the living room when he stopped me. ‘Hey, hey. I don’t get a grand tour?’ 

‘Okay. Corridor, corridor, corridor,’ I summed up. I tried to put the stress on a different syllable each time to make it seem like they were different words referring to different rooms. ‘Bunch of shoes you got me,’ I pointed at the stack of boxes still by the door. ‘Living room.’ I thanked my past self for stuffing my clothes back in the closet so it didn’t look like a complete dump. ‘Bed in living room,’ I continued. He laughed. ‘I mean, it’s a one bedroom but the bedroom is kinda like a closet. So that’s what I’m using it as,’ I explained. I led him into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. He leaned back on the counter, which emphasized how long his legs were. Armie watched me go through my freezer for a moment and then pushed himself off, to closer inspect the polaroids I had on a string on the opposite wall.

‘Who’s all this?’ He ran a finger over the photos and, for some reason, it didn’t bother me.

‘People who will kill you if you hurt me,’ I joked. I didn’t give him enough time to come up with a witty reply. ‘Right, so. I’ve got soy mint chocolate chip, soy cookie dough, I think there’s still a few scoops in this soy butterscotch. And vegan pistachio, but I’m eating that.’ His eyes popped open.

‘Are you vegan? I just demolished a T-bone in front of you,’ he cried. I loved how loud he sometimes got all of a sudden. I knew he’d been so careful not to offend me in any way tonight, and I could see his whole night crumbling before his eyes. 

‘No—I just. I get a lot of gift cards from Whole Foods. These are actually really good though.' I took two spoons out of the drawer and pulled the lid off my tub of ice cream. ‘If you don’t want any of those I can offer you some homemade trail mix.’

‘You make trail mix?’ I couldn’t tell if he was laughing at me or laughing in awe. I pulled the cupboard open and handed him a Tupperware box.

‘It’s got Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Cheerios, M&M's, chocolate chips, peanuts, hazelnuts—’ I thought for a moment, ‘those little snack Reese’s Pieces? I think that’s it.’ Armie had pulled the lid off and picked out two M&M's.

‘Can I?’ He reached for the butterscotch ice cream.

‘Knock yourself out.'

He grabbed the half-empty tub of butterscotch and opened it, tipped the contents of his Tupperware inside and stuck a spoon in. He scooped out a big heapful and stuffed it in his mouth, the cereal crunching as he chewed.

‘So fucking good,’ he sighed. A crease appeared between his eyebrows, something I’d only seen when he was being sincere about something. It made me laugh. The whole evening made me laugh. We had taken a complete one-eighty from how we’d met. The night had been friendly and innocent. It almost felt juvenile, like I had somehow sneaked him upstairs. Made him take off his shoes at the door so we could get into my room without my parents knowing, unsure of what to do with each other next. Everything about him could read ridiculous, over the top; eyes too blue, teeth too white, beard too rugged, hair too slick, voice too low, legs too long, hands too big, too tall, too manly, too much. And then my eyes fell on his socks. They were bright purple, with multicolored zigzags. It put him into perspective. Armie crunched on another mouthful of his own concoction, totally pleased with himself. I slid my socked foot over the tiles and nudged his toe with mine.

‘Cute socks,’ I commented. Mine were pink. He smiled at my feet, put his ice cream down, and licked his lips. I slipped my feet in between his and let my body follow. He wrapped an arm around me and let his hand slide into my back pocket. If I didn’t know any better I’d suspect him of fishing for loose change. He pulled me against his body as I tilted my head up and nipped at his bottom lip. Politely, like he’d done on the train. He draped another arm around my shoulders, kissing me deeper. I was drowning. It tasted of Snickers and pistachio. He didn’t part his lips far enough to let me slip my tongue in his mouth, leaving me lapping at him like a demented idiot. Armie apparently didn’t think I was an idiot at all, pushing me tighter against him before pulling back with a hiss. He didn’t let go of me, so I stared at him, open-mouthed, from about an inch away. I bit his chin.

‘Hmm,’ he finally let out, and it sounded even deeper chest to chest. ‘Where can I wash my hands?’

Armie let go of me and I pointed towards the closed bathroom door. He was a complete child, and ridiculously polite at the same time. I put our ice cream back in the freezer and turned on the light in the living room. I checked my texts. There were three. 

 _Menno: let me know when you get home please!_  
_Menno: do i need to call the police_  
_Menno: please text me either goodnight or the GOODS_

I snorted.

 _Timmy: Home safe, he’s a GENTLEMAN, as am i_  
_Timmy: aka no kiss and tell_

He probably had his phone in hand because he was typing a reply straight away.

 _Menno: you’re telling me at lunch tomorrow_  
_Timmy: night night menno_

Armie reemerged from the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

‘Man, you have a fuckton of stuff to put on your face,’ he commented. ‘How old are you _really_?’

I laughed and connected my phone to my speakers, turned on a playlist.

‘Don’t you ever just buy something and totally convince yourself it’s gonna make your life infinitely better?’ 

Armie seemed to think for a moment and sat down on my bed.

‘Like how I bought you dinner?’

I rolled my eyes.

‘Cheesy.’

‘Hmm. Come here.’ Ordering me around in my own apartment? I was already in front of him, knee to knee, as he ran a hand under my sweater. ‘Is this okay?’ I nodded again. He lifted my sweater out of the way and kissed my stomach. He looked up at me and sighed. ‘Fuck. You’re so—‘ He finished that thought with another sigh, and I was glad. I didn’t have to hear I was beautiful, or hot, or cute, or sexy. Armie let one hand slide around and onto my back as he grazed his teeth over my stomach and sank them in the little curve right below my belly button. ‘I love this,’ he decided. He pulled me on top of him. I spread my legs as far as I could with pants on and tugged my sweater and T-shirt over my head. They both came off in one thick roll of fabric, and my necklace got stuck on my chin. Armie carefully wedged a finger in between and guided my head down. He kissed me again, locked an arm around my neck and tilted his head up. He opened his mouth this time and I was too eager, licking all teeth on the first try. It didn’t matter. He smiled against my lips and tried again. He let his tongue slip in my mouth and I involuntarily arched my back, grinding down on him. He ran his hands down my sides and over my thighs, squeezing them through my jeans. I had kept my hands on his face until now, but ran them down his neck and over his shoulders to shrug him out of his jacket. He flung it aside.

‘It’s gonna crease,’ I breathed in between kisses.

‘Let it,’ he simply replied.

Armie made an attempt to lift me—which I’m sure he was capable of—but couldn’t quite manage sitting down. I fell to the side, laughing, until he was on top of me, kissing my neck, my chest, his hands fumbling at my pants.

‘I can’t believe people get to watch you for free,’ he marveled. It was the weirdest compliment I’d received in a while, but it made sense coming from him. 

‘Well they don’t get to see _this_ for free,’ I corrected. I ran one hand down the row of buttons on his shirt and flicked them all open, one by one. I tried to shove it off him as quickly as he had done with the jacket, but his hands got stuck. He had to tug on the cuffs to get it off.

‘Fucking shovel hands,’ he grunted, finally tossing his shirt to the side too. His cheeks had gone red, and I laughed at his frustration. I took one of his hands and placed it flat on my face. It covered it completely. Armie leaned back down and let his hand slide to the side of my head, fingertips brushing my hair aside. He let his thumb trace the corner of my mouth. I opened my mouth and let him put his thumb inside. I sucked it, watched that register on his face. My pants were halfway undone, and he wedged his free hand inside. I felt a soundless chuckle on my face when he found me hard already. I’d been hard since the kiss in the kitchen, the one on the train, maybe even since the finger in my back pocket.

Armie sat up again and ran his fingertips below the waistband of my jeans and boxers, pulling them both down at the same time. I ran a hand over his chest, caught some of the hair between my fingers and tugged it. I was fully naked, apart from my socks. Armie sat back and pulled those off too.

‘Cute socks,’ he joked.

I pulled my legs in to make room for him on the mattress; it was only a queen, but the least I could do was pretend he’d fit. He didn’t seem to care much about the cramped space as he settled between my legs. Ran his lips down the inside of my thigh, mimicked the pattern with his hand on my other thigh. Both met in the middle; his hand cupping my balls, his lips on my erection. I tensed up before letting out a sigh. Armie flicked his tongue at the tip of my dick and closed his lips around it. My sigh turned into a moan.

I could do nothing but knot my fingers in his hair as he sucked me, tightening his lips every time he reached the head. He closed his fingers around my balls, and there was nothing I _wanted_ to do, either. His head moved down slowly, taking his sweet time. My thighs tightened every time he was close to pulling off, trying to ride air, ride _something_.

‘Fuck—Armie,’ I sighed. His name felt unfamiliar in my mouth. I needed to test it. He sat up slowly and kissed me again, his clothed knee rubbing into my groin. I gyrated my hips up into him. He was smiling again, a surprised grin spreading over his face. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really; I was horny for a living and I rarely had to fake it. He fed me two of his fingers and I sucked them greedily. I tried to open his pants. He had one of those double button situations where one of them was facing in. He forced his fingers further in my mouth, making my hands still. I had to concentrate. I opened my mouth further, let him run his fingertips towards the back of my tongue. I closed my eyes. ‘You can do that later, okay?’ I nodded. I was okay with anything he asked me. ‘D’you have lube?’ He slipped his fingers out of my mouth and reached next to the bed, where I’d pointed him. Armie hovered over me, digging through my box of toys. I took the opportunity to wrap an arm around him and place kisses on his stomach.

I was pulled off him as he sat back up and squeezed some lube on his fingers. He tossed the bottle aside, but it rolled back into the indentation we made in the mattress and hit him in the knee. He ignored it. Armie wrapped his fingers around my dick and started stroking me slowly. His middle finger on his other hand circling my hole, slipping inside just past his nail, out again, past the first knuckle and out again, until he hit the third knuckle and groaned. I knew my eyes were mostly black by now, and I could hardly keep them open. I could see it in his. I lifted my hips into his touch, raised my chin.

‘More,’ I moaned. It was my time to hand out orders.

‘Oh, you’re getting more,’ Armie assured me. ‘You’re gonna need a lot more,’ he added, and then, more to himself: ‘So fucking tight.’

He already struggled to fit his index finger in beside his middle. His eyes constantly flickering up and down, making sure that this was _okay_. I was beyond okay, riding his fingers steadily, pumping into his fist. I tried to relax my face—underbites were not sexy—but only strained my neck.

‘More,’ I repeated. Armie added more lube, added a third finger. I could see him watch his own fingers stretch me, me taking them, forcing my ass down to take more of them. _Fucking shovel hands._ ‘More, more, more,’ I begged. He pulled all his fingers out slowly and reached over me again. I had a second go at his buttons and managed to undo them this time. Armie was wearing stretch cotton boxers and I could clearly see the outline of his dick. I wanted to lean in and bite, but settled for running a hand over it, wrapping my fingers around it through the fabric—just barely managing.

Armie worked his own pants down and bit the condom wrapper.

‘Tsk-tsk, didn’t you pay attention in sex ed? Those teeth are sharp too,’ I commented. I took the liberty to stick a finger in his mouth and poke one of his canines, which he allowed. He inspected the condom, made sure it was right side up.

‘It’s fine,’ he concluded, rolling it down his own erection. I opened the lube again, turned the bottle over and squeezed out a generous amount on his dick. I tossed it to the side, wrapped a hand around him and slicked him up. Armie pushed my legs apart and sat between them as I stroked myself with the leftover lube. He felt me again with his fingers. 

‘It’s fine,’ I assured him.

‘It’s very fine,’ he agreed. He leaned into me again, kissing me as I stroked myself, the blunt tip of his dick nudging against me. He tried to push the head in twice but slipped. I had been _very_ generous with the lube. I smiled against his lips. He finally slipped inside, and I gasped as I felt myself wrap around the head of his dick. Armie licked my open mouth and lowered himself onto me, into me.

‘Ohh—god,’ I muttered. ‘ _Fuck_.’

I tried to lift my chest off the bed, angle my hips down to take more of him, deeper inside of me. He was so hard, _I_ was so hard. I let go of my dick and grabbed the bedding above my head, steadying myself as he really thrust into me the first time. I could feel the lines along which he stretched me. He filled me completely, his hips resting against my ass, my thighs draped over his. He was remarkably quiet, but I could tell he was holding back. He gave me short, shallow thrusts and wrapped his hand around me, stroking quickly. He knew exactly what I needed. He hiked my hips up into his lap and filled me again, making my eyes roll back in my head. I closed them, let him fuck me, make my toes curl. They cracked.

‘Fuck, fuck—stop, stop, stop,’ I hissed, poking two fingers in his stomach. His hand stilled immediately. He pulled out; his eyes round, worried, black.

‘Are you okay—did I hurt you?’ If he had, he was ready to make it up to me, put me back together.

‘I—no,’ I assured him. ‘You’re gonna make me come,’ I admitted, resting an arm over my face. I gritted my teeth.

‘Oh, shit,’ he laughed, hushed as if we were still sneaking around. ‘Is that okay?’ Everything was okay. Apparently coming like a teen five minutes after coming home from school and awkwardly shimmying out of his pants was also okay. I gave him one nod. Armie laughed again. He kissed me, and I removed my arm from my face. He kissed my stomach, then wrapped his lips around the tip of my dick again.

‘ _Oh_.’

It was a mixture of surprise and delight, realizing he wanted to make me come like this. Also realizing he’d be fucking me again later. Two fingers pressed into me, no fooling around this time. Armie curled them, and instead of fucking me with them, drew circles inside me. I felt my breath shift from my lungs to my stomach and then out altogether. He worked my erection and massaged my prostate effortlessly, his lips never loosening their tight ring around the head of my dick. They were wet.

‘Fuck, Armie—I’m—‘ I warned him. He didn’t care. I was coming in his mouth. I tightened around his fingers. He didn’t pull off as I bucked up against him. He let his lips slide further down my dick, making me come on the back of his tongue, down his throat. He swallowed around me.

I dropped back on the bed, and noticed my legs were shaking. Armie ran a hand up my thigh, wrapped it around my dick and pulled his mouth off.

‘Shit,’ I swore again. He smiled, wrapped his lips around my dick again, pulled back with a smack. ‘ _Shittt_ —Armie.’ He did it again, just to mess with me. I started to get accustomed to the taste of his name in my mouth.

 

I had Armie’s head on my chest and a hand in his hair. I wrapped the curl in this neck around my middle finger. His finger was hooked around my necklace. There was an unfeigned intimacy to having him between my legs; warm, heavy, sticky. Though less sticky than it could have been, thanks to him. It was all so _easy_. Armie sighed—again—as if he’d come to a similar conclusion. He propped himself up and watched my face.

‘You’re so—‘

‘Ah-ah,’ I interrupted him. _Please don’t say hot, beautiful, sexy._ It made me feel so easy, and not the good kind. I’d been careful to always call him by his name, and he’d followed my example. He huffed. I pinched his lips between my thumb and forefinger. I felt him chuckle, but the sound couldn’t come out.

‘You’re—‘ _Pinch_. ‘You’re—‘ _Pinch_.

‘Think carefully,’ I warned.

‘You’re—smart,’ he tried. That was okay. I went back to running my fingers through his hair. ‘You’re _insanely_ funny,’ he laughed, as if he was remembering all the stupid shit I’d said all night. ‘ _Yoouu_ —‘ he had to think for a moment— ‘ate _all_ my fucking fries,’ he added. I snorted.

‘I asked, I think.’ I tried to remember. I probably hadn’t asked.

‘You make excellent trail mix. Although I think that was originally supposed to be like a healthy snack,’ he muttered.

‘When you’re an adult, you make the rules,’ I shrugged. ‘Life hack.’ He laughed out loud. Exhibit X of stupid shit I said. 

‘ _Life hack_ ,’ he mimicked. I poked him between his ribs. He poked me back, and I realized I couldn’t win this from below. He squeezed my sides until all that came out of my mouth was noiseless wheezing. I tried to plant my elbow in his side but he sat up at once and pinned my arms over my head, biting my neck when he knew I had no defense. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tried to wrestle him off. Armie let go of my arms and I dropped them around his neck. I kissed him, and when he paused in front of my face for a moment, dipped the tip of my tongue in his cupid’s bow. 

‘I’ve wanted to do that for days,’ I explained. He licked me back. I caught his tongue between my lips and sucked it. Armie was hard again. Or still? I rocked my hips up. He met mine with his own, running his dick up and down my crease. His eyes were questioning. ‘You can fuck me again,’ I told him. ‘But I’m gonna suck you first.’

‘Oh?’

‘Hm,’ I nodded knowingly.

In an unguarded moment, I rolled us both over. I sat on his lap again. I slipped between his legs and bent down, placing kisses up the length of his erection. The closer I got to the tip, the more insistent it bobbed up to meet my lips. I caught it in my mouth once I reached the tip and wrapped my lips around it. Armie had the back of his hand rested on his forehead as he looked down. I loved an audience. I arched my back, made sure he could see my ass and my face in one glance, and hollowed my cheeks as I went down on him.

‘Oh, fuck—Timmy. That looks—‘

He cut himself off. I knew it looked good. I sucked him slowly, taking as much of him as possible, but I couldn’t quite open my mouth far enough to swallow him. I made a good effort though. I was drooling on him, and when I pulled back to wipe my mouth, my face distinctly smelled of latex. 

It was my turn to lean over him to grab a condom. I ripped it open and put the tip between my lips. I rolled it down his erection and let my lips follow my fingers.

‘Jesus—where did _you_ get sex ed?’ Armie commented.

‘The internet.’

Armie snorted and reached a hand between my legs to pull me off balance. I’d been planning on riding him, but this was okay. He crawled on top of me, poured some lube in his hand and slicked himself up before running it between my cheeks. I shivered at the cold. He pushed my thigh up and I brought my other leg up to match. He pushed inside me, slightly more easily this time. I felt like I sank into the mattress. There was some offensive french rap song playing from my playlist; it made me hornier. Armie groaned, leaned his elbows on the bed and rested his forehead against mine.

‘Mm _fuck_ ,’ he mumbled. I wrapped my legs around him again, locking my one foot under my other heel. Armie fucked me steadily. I felt for him. He needed to get off. He wrapped a hand around my dick and stroked it. He needed me to get off first. His wrist flicked each time he reached the tip; something I never did, but quite enjoyed. I was so sensitive already, a distant ache reminding me I’d been fucked before. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him closer to my face as he fucked me. His beard grazed my cheek. 

‘Talk to me,’ I asked him. I wanted to hear him as I came.

‘Hm,’ He grumbled.

‘Please, remember on the phone?’ That hit a nerve. ‘You didn’t even have to say anything,’ I reminded him.

‘Fuck, yes, I heard you,’ Armie remembered. ‘You came—‘

‘I was thinking about your dick in my ass and I heard you and I just came,’ I babbled. I noticed Armie squeeze his eyes shut, open them again, refocus.

‘I was sitting in my car with my cock out and I was so hard for you,’ he told me. ‘Fuck—you had me in the middle of the parking lot—I didn’t even want the fucking banana bread anymore,’ he continued. He was making no fucking sense and I loved it. I pushed my head back in the mattress to watch him properly; he was so close I could only make out one eye. The inch of separation it gave me brought his face into focus again. Armie’s eyes were closed, his jaw slack. His bottom lip had gone a deep pink shade. I leaned in again and sucked on it.

‘You’re gonna make me come again,’ I told him. ‘Tell me.’

‘Tell you?’ 

‘Tell me to come for you,’ I breathed.

‘Come, come—Shit.’ His hips stuttered. I locked him in closer, kept his thrusts shorter. ‘I want you to fucking come with me in your ass,’ he spat suddenly. I was gone. I came in between our chests, my hips lifting off the bed. I squeezed his body tight between my thighs and felt myself clench down on his dick. Armie’s head dropped against my neck as he came. He bit down, muffled his groans with my skin, folded me in half as he seemed to crawl up, into me.

His lips turned soft again, and he unfolded me, took off the condom. His head was on my chest again. I held it there.

‘Are you staying the night?’ I asked him. I had no idea what time it was, or how long we’d been home. I was exhausted. I could hear my own eyelashes as I blinked.

‘Hmm,’ Armie replied. ‘I have a car picking me up at eight so I should be back at my hotel by then,’ he mumbled. It sounded like this was the first time he’d made that calculation, and there was a hint of regret.

‘Okay.’

‘I’ll try not to wake you,’ he promised. ‘I’m busy tomorrow, and I don’t want to take up any of your grandma’s time with you, but maybe I can see you on Monday? If you’re not busy,’ he offered. His words were slurred.

‘I’m never busy,’ I replied, accepting his offer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. No dice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick hangover.

 

 _Armie realized he‘d made a mistake the moment the door clicked in the lock. He‘d been careful to close it slowly, quietly, so as not to wake Timmy. It was definite; the door was closed. He had been so preoccupied with ways to give Timmy the money, that the way it would inevitably come across had never even crossed his mind. He‘d kept putting it off, wanted to give it to him at dinner, maybe after a few drinks, but there had been no opportunities. There was never a silence he could have filled with a ‘well’ or a ‘by the way’._ This is for those German classes you want to take. For acting classes. To make up for lost time on cam to focus on your career. Definitely not for sex. For more books. Or shoes, whatever. For good headshots you’ll need for auditions you _will_ get into. _Armie knew he could do it; he just needed a nudge in the right direction. This was how his family nudged. People, companies, politics. The envelope had slipped his mind altogether when they’d gotten on the subway and Timmy had looked like he wanted to kiss him. And then he had, and Timmy had let him. And upstairs in the kitchen, Timmy had kissed him back. Armie turned the doorknob and found he could only twist it a quarter turn before it stopped. He thought about knocking, waking Timmy up to get back inside, removing the envelope from between his boots where he’d left it. Jesus, what a spot to leave a couple grand in as well. Armie dropped his head and sighed._

_The door to his right opened, startling him. He straightened out, let go of the doorknob. Nodded at the young man who stepped outside._

_‘Morning,’ he greeted. ‘He’s usually not up this early.’ Armie could tell it was a jab at Timmy, a friendly one. Armie knew why Timmy slept in. The young man looked fresh and ready for work, and it made Armie realize how he probably looked; disheveled, his suit creased as Timmy had warned. His dress shirt missing (not missing per se; he had left it on purpose)._

_‘Right, right.’ Armie tugged at his T-shirt and nodded. ‘I was actually—just leaving,’ he explained._

_‘_ Oh _. Right,’ the man replied. ‘Well.’ He gestured towards the end of the hallway to indicate that he was heading out for work. Or showing Armie the way out. He seemed protective of Timmy. For a moment he considered that Timmy might not like his neighbors knowing he had strange men sleeping over. Whatever his intentions, Armie followed him down the stairs, made a comment about the elevator being out to seem more likable, less threatening, create some community between them. He got a chuckle for that_.

 

I woke up for the second time and realized it was late. The sun was high outside my window, streaming in, heating up the bottom half of my bed. I stretched my legs, cracked my toes, yawned, smiled at nothing. I turned my face into my pillow. I didn’t want to get up. I’d probably already missed lunch. I reached out an arm and grabbed my phone, squinted at it. There was a list of notifications on my lock screen. I hadn’t missed lunch, but if I wanted to make it I needed to get up and take a shower. I swiped right and went into my messages. Menno had continued the conversation without me the night before. 

_Menno: Is he actually there as we speak?_  
_Menno: omfg you’re such a SLUT_  
_Menno: okok you’re not i’m just jealous_  
_Menno: snap a pic for me_  
_Menno: be safe xoxo_

I snorted. There was one from this morning:

_Menno: ???????_

I sent him three sleepy emoji’s and yawned again just looking at them. I went back to look at my other unread messages and opened Armie’s. There was just one, asking me to call him when I woke up. There was a meaningful gap between this message and the one he’d sent me before. I smiled, called him. I rested my iPhone on my cheek and cleared my throat. The call went straight to voicemail.

‘It’s Armie. I’m not here right now, so—leave a message and I’ll get back to you!’ I smiled at the sound of his voice.

‘It’s me,’ I started. ‘You’re probably in a meeting. On a Saturday. Like some unstoppable maniac.’ I yawned again. ‘Get back to me.’

Was that too fresh? No, he liked me like this. It was hard to find any boundaries left to cross when his dick was in my ass just hours earlier. I noticed his dress shirt on the corner of my bed. He’d left it there intentionally, because I remembered him tossing it to the ground after forcing it over his hands. I sat up, put my arms inside and inhaled his scent. I remembered the exact moment I’d decided I preferred men’s cologne over women’s perfume. Whenever a girl smelled nice, it reminded me of my mother. One time I’d followed a guy for three whole blocks because he smelled like something I wanted to eat. That wasn’t my proudest moment. 

I was starving. I got myself a big bowl of cereal and picked Armie’s spoon off the counter to eat with, because I could. I crawled back into bed and was delighted to find my warmth was still trapped under the sheets. I was ready to stay there all day. 

_Timmy: I’m gonna skip lunch, suuuper tired._  
_Timmy: see you tonight_

I took another bite of cereal and felt my phone buzz.

_Menno: fuck you_  
_Menno: I’m getting you drunk tonight and you’re telling me everything_  
_Timmy: hmmm_

 

I dozed and watched some Netflix before deciding I could use a shower. I didn’t have to get ready yet but I hated rushing, especially when I was tired. In between laying out underwear and socks, digging out a towel that smelled fresh enough to use and picking the proper soundtrack, over half an hour had gone. Getting ready four hours before I had to leave seemed like the right decision.

In the shower, I felt a hint of regret that I hadn’t gotten up with Armie at the crack of dawn. I knew I could have tempted him into taking a shower with me before he left. Maybe suck him before he really needed to go. Mornings were excellent for practicing my deep throat technique. I would have had the time to map out his body, lather him in my body wash so he’d smell like me all day. Instead, I had shreds of memories from last night I needed to piece together. It seemed so long ago and so far away. His kiss in the morning had cut my sleep in half and doubled it, as if it hadn’t just been one night since we’d slept together, but two. How had we gone from friendly conversation to kissing on the way home? Who’d taken it in that direction? There were gaps in my memory, but I remembered thinking he _needed_ to kiss me. And he had. I know I had taken us from light pecks over ice cream to making out. That reminded me I needed to brush my teeth.

The electrical toothbrush made my nose itch. I turned my face into the streaming water and spat, letting my mouth fill up three times to rinse afterward. Where was I? Right. Making out. His hands on my stomach. Hands he’d washed before touching me. I grinned and held my face under the water again. Me crawling onto his lap, undressing myself, then him. Pants that wouldn’t come off, didn’t need to come off. His mouth on me. I lathered myself up and paused at my crotch. I was hard. His hand on my face, his palm alone big enough to cover most of my features. His fingers inside me. I ran a soapy hand between my cheeks and found myself tender. Not sore though, just sensitive enough to send a jolt down my legs. I wrapped a hand around my dick and stroked myself. Thick foam collected at the tip. I thought about finally taking Armie’s pants off, hearing his low chuckle at my eagerness and not caring. His hard dick in my hand, in my ass, in my mouth. His mouth on my neck, on my thighs. I made a tight fist when I remembered him talking me into coming, until he came inside of me. I came over my hand. I rinsed it off and guided it down the drain with my toes. Rinsed. Washed again, this time actually getting clean, not dirtier. 

I finally managed to force myself to leave the shower. The bathroom was all steamed up so I wrapped a towel around my waist and opened a window in the living room. It was chilly, but at least I could breathe. My bed looked tempting, so getting dressed quickly was imperative. I put boxers and a shirt on, and pulled socks over my feet. Purple ones. I unzipped the garment bag and took a look at my suit. A green suit. I was never gonna wear this thing again. At least blue could work for something more casual. I couldn’t show up at a wedding in a green suit. Could I wear pink shoes with a green suit? I was halfway down my stack of boxes when I realized what kind of event I was attending. Better go with the boots from last night.

It took a moment to register what was wedged between my boots. A plastic bag? A note? I picked up the envelope and immediately felt what was inside. It was too thick for a note. The front read ‘Timothée’, in a graceful hand. Maybe slightly large. Someone who’d been tapped on the fingers when learning how to write. The flap of the envelope was just tucked inside, so I unfolded it. There was a number of crisp, green notes inside.

‘Fuck.’ It took a moment to sink in. My knees hurt. I sat down, stuck a finger in the envelope and ran my nail over the stack of bills. It made a scratchy sound. ‘ _Fuuuck_ ,’ I sighed. I looked at my socked feet and realized I was curling my toes. I let go, and with it, my heart sank from my throat to my gut. He hadn’t just paid me. He hadn’t even given me the chance to refuse. I closed the envelope again and ran it against my closed mouth, trying to figure out what to do with it. I wasn’t angry. Why wasn’t I angry? I was too heavy to be angry. Looking at the pile of shoe boxes, I should have known this was how he treated people. I stuffed the envelope in my backpack by the door. I needed it out of sight. I hated that it said ‘Timothée’. He’d never called me that. It felt so distant suddenly, like he’d had a secretary address it. I hated that he left it between my shoes, like a coward. At least if he was paying to fuck me, he could have handed me the money. I hated that I hadn’t known his intentions when he fucked me and I’d come again just thinking about him. I hated that he’d kissed me below my ear before sneaking out. I hated that I’d been awake and waiting for him to do exactly that as soon as he’d gotten up from the bed.

I was cold. Sitting on the ground in my corridor in just boxers and a tee wasn’t the best idea. I got up, headed back into the room. Closed the window, stared at my suit on the bed. There was no way I was going out now. I wanted to get back into bed and sleep for a week. I crawled into bed, stuck my feet under the blanket and texted Menno.

_Timmy: mind if i take a raincheck? I don’t feel good..._

My phone rang almost immediately after I’d hit send. 

‘You’re not canceling on me last minute,’ Menno simply said. No hello. I sighed.

‘Menno—‘

‘No, fuck you, Timmy. We’re fucking _going_.’

‘It’s not last minute,’ I squeaked. The fundraiser didn’t start for another three hours. With the number of people he knew, he was bound to find someone else in time.

‘You know I’ve been getting ready for three fucking hours. I don’t care if you’ve got dick hangover, man,’ he continued.

‘I don’t—‘ I shut myself up. Dick hangover was actually a good way to phrase it.

‘I’m coming over and I better find you wearing a green suit when I get there.’

‘Menno, you don’t have to come all the way out here—‘

‘Distance isn’t saving you, Timmy. I’m fucking picking you up.’

He hung up. I didn’t want to see him, or anyone for that matter. If I saw him, I’d have to tell him, and he’d tell Lukas, and they would find out they’d been right all along. A message had come in while I was on the phone.

_Armie: this day is neverending... call you tonight? X_

I licked the inside of my cheek, let my thumb hover over the keyboard. I typed out a reply before I could change my mind.

_Timmy: don’t fucking call me_

If I’d have known Armie was coming over for paid sex, I wouldn’t have invited him up. I wouldn’t have met him to begin with. He gave me none of those options. I put my phone in flight mode to cut off his. I pulled myself up on the thought of the open bar at the fundraiser. Menno would be there and he’d distract me for sure. I just couldn’t show that I was hurt, because he’d ask and keep asking. Information hoarder. I was guilty of that too. Should have hoarded more thoroughly when it came to Armie.

I was in my suit and ready to go when Menno barged into my apartment. He seemed surprised I was actually dressed. He opened his mouth to say something but appeared to reconsider his words.

‘Are you okay—have you been crying?’

I shrugged, shook my head. Had I?

‘Short night,’ I joked. That was a lie. It had been a long night, in every aspect.

‘Your nose is all red,’ Menno commented. He seemed ready to let it go. He was bursting with excitement. ‘Wine in a can,’ he cheered. He produced two rose gold cans from behind his back. I cheered along with him.

‘Super classy.’

‘Just like we are.’ He underlined that statement by opening his can and clunking it against mine.

‘Maybe I’m getting a cold, all these people on the train—‘ I started, but didn’t commit to the lie. He wasn’t listening. I cracked the can open and took a big gulp. The wine was acrid and too sweet at the same time. Menno looked weird, off in some way. I stared at his face. ‘Are you wearing makeup?’ Menno beamed. Lifted his chin, turned his face towards the light. His cheekbones shimmered. ‘Jesus.’

 

It was the kind of event I hated. A bunch of people in expensive, though more ill-fitting suits than mine, standing around. The fundraiser was in a large hall, no place to hide, with only those silly high tables to lean on. The only chairs available were directed towards the stage where presumably speeches would be held. Or was there an auction? I hadn’t really paid attention to Menno’s explanation not had I read the invitation he’d given me.

Mennk got stopped on the way in to be complimented on a piece he’d written. I smiled along, nodded. More people joined the circle. Everywhere in the hall, small groups of people started to form. There were waiters going around with small amuse-bouches, but I couldn’t eat, although getting some food in my stomach was probably not the worst idea with the drinking I had planned. I took a puff pastry snack from a plate and nodded at the waiter. I was happy to have an excuse not to reply to the ‘and what is it you do?’ that was repeated every time someone joined the round. When I brought the bite to my face, I got a whiff of what I was putting in my mouth. Some sort of warm salmon mousse. I suppressed a gag and made sure no one had noticed. I was _not_ okay. I needed a drink. I excused myself for a moment and went looking for the bar. There were people going around with trays holding champagne glasses, but I needed something stronger. I traced them back to the source; there was a classic cocktail bar set up next to the stage. I started charging towards it when I noticed him: three steps from the bar, drink in hand, was Armie. He was turned away from me, but it was undeniably him. It wasn’t just his size; it was the way he held himself, curved towards his conversation partner. I suddenly heard his voice booming over everyone else’s. I spun on my heel and started walking back to the door. I whisked two champagne flutes from a tray and downed one. I discarded the empty glass on one of the high tables, along with my salmon mousse abomination. Menno read my face as I strode towards him and removed himself from the group.

‘Dude, what about my drink?’

‘Change of plan. I’m leaving,’ I announced.

‘Hey, whoa.’ Menno took the glass from my hand. I took a new one from a waiter who passed me. At least they were cooperating. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Armie’s here,’ I hissed.

‘What?’

‘ _Armie_. Is standing right over there.’ I nudged my chin to the side, urging him to look over my shoulder.

‘So you’ll have someone to talk to,’ Menno cheered. He didn’t know why I didn’t want to talk to him. I shook my head repeatedly. ‘Which one is he?’ He peered over my shoulder.

‘The huge guy. Black tux,’ I muttered. I watched Menno focus, frown, refocus. ‘How many tall guys in black tuxedos do you see, Menno?’ I was losing my patience. I wanted to go.

‘Well, just one _really_ tall guy, but—‘ He closed his mouth. ‘Wait— _Armie_?’ I rolled my eyes.

‘Why don’t you shout it a little louder?’

‘Armie,’ he repeated. I sighed. ‘Timmy, that’s Armand Hammer.’

‘Yeah, he just goes by Armie,’ I explained. I didn’t know or care about his last name.

‘You fucked Armand Hammer?’

‘You’re being weird,’ I frowned and took a big gulp of my champagne. Bubbles on an empty stomach was an awful idea. Turns out I was full of those.

‘Armand _fucking_ Hammer is basically royalty, Timmy.’ It was Menno’s time to hiss.

‘Well, his family is loaded or something.’

‘His family owns the state of California, dude. And probably some obscure part of Russia.’

‘What? Really?’

Menno rolled his eyes.

‘No, not really. But Hammer Museum? Hammer Galeries? Armand Hammer is raising the fucking funds tonight,’ he rambled.

‘Can you please stop repeating his whole name? You’re gonna make him come over.’ I still had my back turned towards Armie and kept my voice down in case he was closer than I thought.

‘If he doesn’t come over, you’re getting him for me. You’re getting me an interview,’ Menno declared.

‘No fucking way,’ I chuckled. I shook my head and took another big gulp of champagne. This was gonna turn ugly very quickly.

‘Why not? Getting an interview like that published is gonna look great on my resumé.’ He sounded like it was already on his resumé. Menno grabbed my forearm and started dragging me back towards the bar when he finally seemed to realize I wasn’t playing around. ‘Tim? What the fuck’s going on?’ He never called me Tim.

‘He paid me,’ I muttered. I knew it was too quiet, and I would have to repeat it. Menno squinted at me. ‘He paid me,’ I said again. It came out as something between a cough and a hiccup, and I wanted to blame it on the bubbles, but I knew that wasn’t it. My nose stung as I watched Menno try to make sense of the situation.

‘And you didn’t know that’s what it was,’ he concluded. It was a misplaced joke, so I ignored him. At least he let go of my arm. ‘How much?’

‘Menno.’

‘Right, right. Shit. Sorry, man.’ He scratched his face and then apparently remembered he was wearing a full face of makeup. I stared over his shoulder, at the exit. ‘We can’t go, Timmy,’ Menno whined. The tone had something of an apology.

‘I know, I’ll just—get drunk,’ I shrugged. I was pouting involuntarily. It was high time to occupy my mouth. I ran my thumb and forefinger down my chin and over my neck, and felt my heart beat in my throat.

‘Hey, we could come up with a plan to fuck up his life,’ Menno offered. He poked my side awkwardly. His support was misguided, but I couldn’t knock him for trying. ‘Do you have any dirt on him?’

‘You mean apart from fucking a boy whore on a work trip.’ Menno flinched. ‘We’re not fucking with him. Just—leave him alone.’ I’d only ever fucked with a guy once, and that still felt justified. He’d sought me out in a bar and forced himself into my life. He’d been so persistent he’d caught me off guard in a way, and after sleeping with him a couple times I found out he was newlywed and lived upstate with his wife. I’d bought them a mint green colander from their shared Amazon wishlist and hadn’t heard from him after that. I wasn’t a vindictive person though, and—weirdly enough—anger wasn’t even in the top three emotions I was feeling. Disappointment was the clear winner here. The rest of me just felt like mush in a green suit. At least I wasn’t wearing a pair of his sneakers.

 

I felt safe in the back row of chairs. Menno was fine with sitting in the back as long as he was on the aisle so he still had a good view. I clambered over him a number of times on my way back and forth to the bar. Armie was in the front, and he was head and shoulders above the rest so it was easy to keep tabs on him. I knew he saw me when he got on stage for his speech, but I’d glared at him long enough. He didn’t turn around after that. Again, I was disappointed. Part of me wanted him to turn around and shoot me one of his full-face smiles. Possibly the drunk part. Armie was as pink as he’d been in my bed; I could tell from the back of his neck. I still had his bite on mine.

The later it got, the easier I found it to talk to people, but I Menno looked like he was witnessing a car crash. As soon as it was socially acceptable to excuse himself from the whole evening, Menno dragged me outside. I saw a woman we’d talked to earlier on our way out, but Menno didn’t let me talk to her. We stopped in front of the door.

‘That was that lady from before,’ I protested.

‘Yes, and I’d like to be able to face her again after tonight,’ he said. I pouted, looked into the street at the passing traffic. Fresh air was good. ‘Did you eat anything at all today? It’s like you’re inserting alcohol straight into your bloodstream or something.’ I could tell he was annoyed. I didn’t know why.

‘Cereal,’ I replied. I tapped my foot. I could tell it was cold out, but it didn’t really bother me. ‘He gave me his coat and everything,’ I blurted. ‘He was nice.’

‘That’s great, Timmy. But maybe just don’t meet with people from the internet again,’ he grumbled.

‘You meet with people from Grindr all the time,’ I remarked.

‘Will you shut the fuck up?’ Some people trickled out into the street to smoke. They shot us weird glances. I could use a smoke. In the distance, I saw a familiar figure, huddled in a large parka.

‘ _Heeey_ , it’s Lukas!’ I took two steps but had Menno’s hand on my arm again, so I just waved instead.

‘Yeah, I texted him,’ Menno explained.

‘You didn’t text me,’ I complained.

‘You were already _here_.’

I didn’t have the time to think about that. Lukas was there, kissing me on the cheek.

‘Jesus, how did you get so drunk so fast?’ I grabbed his hand when he leaned over to kiss Menno on the cheek. ‘What’s the crisis?’ He folded his fingers over mine and gave me a weird look. His hand was warm. 

‘Timmy’s date paid him after they had sex,’ Menno said.

‘ _Hey_.’ It came out high and squeaky, but I was relieved I didn’t have to tell him. 

‘—and his date was Armand Hammer.’ I rolled my eyes at the mention of his name again and felt tears well up. Talking was easier when I was drunk, but so was crying. I was glad it was dark outside. I didn’t feel like listening to Lukas’ inevitable preach. 

‘Dude, that—sucks,’ he just said. That was it. He squeezed my hand. 

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh, shit, there he is,’ Menno hissed. He spun me around and put himself between me and the door as Armie came out. I almost lost my balance. If he was trying to block the view, he was failing miserably; Menno was a good four inches shorter than me and I could look right over his head. Armie looked serious. He lit a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked last night. It suddenly seemed terribly rude not to go up to him. 

‘I’m gonna go over and talk to him,’ I decided.

‘No, no, no—you’re not,’ Lukas shook his head. 

‘Does someone have a mint? I’m just gonna go say hi,’ I rambled. 

‘And you were just gonna have dinner yesterday,’ Lukas told me. 

‘Last one,’ Menno apologized. He stuck out his tongue to reveal a triangular blue mint. Without thinking, I leaned in and sucked it off his tongue; it was his last, and I really needed one. He pulled back and wiped his mouth. ‘Ew, Timmy. Gross.’ The fuss made Armie turn in our direction. He didn’t smile at me though. He appeared to let out a huff and went back to smoking and staring into traffic. The light from indoors fell on the back of his head and into the curl that rested on the collar of his jacket. I wanted nothing more than to wrap it around my finger again, bury my nose in the hair on his crown. I guessed that ship had sailed. I watched him smoke. I knew he felt me watching him. Why did this look so hot? I didn’t even care how annoyed he looked, how his jaw locked when Menno started talking again. I wanted him to blow his smoke in my face. Smoke in my apartment, leave it smelling like Camels or Luckies for weeks to come. Ruin the curtains, burn holes in my mattress, put his cigarette out on my tongue. I let my tongue slip out of my mouth and chewed on the mint. I didn’t know where that thought came from. Armie swayed slowly before putting out his half-smoked cigarette on the pavement and disappearing back inside. 

‘He’s hot though,’ I heard Lukas bring up as an argument in his favor. And he was supposed to be our voice of reason. I never even stood a chance. 

‘Let’s go,’ Menno decided. ‘Let’s get you home.’

‘Can we get McDonalds?’

‘Gross, Timmy.’

 

I ate four cheeseburgers and a caramel sundae on the way home and slept until Sunday afternoon. I called my grandma to tell her I wasn’t feeling well and went back to sleep. When I woke up again, it was dark. I turned on my space heater and washed down two aspirins with half a bottle of water that clearly had been sitting out for too long. I couldn’t remember undressing and getting into bed, but clearly, I had, because there were clothes scattered from the front door to the bathroom. I found my phone in my sheets after frantically turning them over five times. I vividly remembered turning flight mode off to call my grandma and feeling my phone buzz against my face while I talked to her. I’d turned it back on immediately after. I turned it off again. There were red badges on all my main apps, so I started with texts. I knew who’d been trying to call me. I turned on the light in the kitchen and sat on the counter. I replied to Menno first.

_Timmy: Still alive, sorry I went mia_  
_Timmy: thanks for getting me home safe_

I tapped the yellow heart emoji a number of times to keep the message light. Yellow was for friendship, right? Lukas was next. Then Suzanna. Apparently, she’d caught wind of the whole Armand Hammer deal. She was a few steps behind though. It looked like the guys had omitted a few details. Up next was the man himself. I opened the thread and was greeted with numerous large blue text boxes. It started out with apparent confusion at me telling him not to call, followed by the question if I was referring to the money. Armie had then tried to call me. Three times. A text urging me to pick up the phone followed. That he wasn’t going to explain this over text. Telling me not to be childish. He took back the insult ten minutes later. This was all a misunderstanding, _pick up the phone, Timmy_. Misunderstanding? Maybe I was acting childish by avoiding him but he was the one to leave a big wad of cash in my boot like Santa. Handsome, tall Santa. I knew I’d been right not to answer the phone; his voice would have killed me. Armie excused himself, he had somewhere to be in the evening, but would call me when he got back to his hotel. The next three boxes of text were his explanation. That he never meant it to be payment for services rendered. That he realized too late that was how it would come across. That he hadn’t found the right time to offer it to me properly and that he now realized maybe there was no right time for something like that. That he’d enjoyed our evening. That he was sorry. I needed a cup of coffee. I hopped off the counter, opened the fridge and pulled out Armie’s ice cream. I turned on some music.

The combination of trail mix in sickly sweet butterscotch was amongst the best things I’d ever had in my mouth. I sighed and tried to settle on a reply. I knew I’d read like an idiot either way.

_Timmy: how do people usually react when you sleep with them and give them money?_

I held back the urge to add more question marks, because I was still frustrated as fuck. My heart jumped when the message immediately showed up as read, meaning Armie was awake at this time, possibly getting ready to sneak out of another apartment and scatter some more bills around.

_Armie: if i call will you please pick up?_

I rolled my tongue in my mouth and sent him an ‘ok’. My phone vibrated in my hand.

‘Morning,’ I croaked. I cleared my throat.

‘Is it?’ He hadn’t gone to bed. Armie sounded so close, I instinctively leaned my face into my phone. I’d read once that people walk around while they’re on the phone because their body is subconsciously looking for the person on the other line. Maybe this was similar. I sighed in response, meaning ‘talk’. He did. ‘I’m sorry, Timmy,’ he sighed back. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe I wasn’t, maybe you—fucked my brains out,’ he chuckled. I spooned more ice cream in my mouth. ‘I like you, Timmy. I just wanted to help you,’ he concluded. 

‘That’s nice,’ I mumbled. ‘But I’m an adult, Armie.’

‘I know, I just—there’s no shame in taking an opportunity when it presents itself. If you can get some really good photos and—I don’t know—move into the right circle, you can really make it,’ he rambled. It was weird to hear him ramble. 

‘I already have an agent,’ I retorted. I’d been signed at the same agency for years, they’d gotten me my first few roles, and assured me I would get through this dip. 

‘Fucking great job they’re doing,’ Armie honed. I could just imagine how his mouth pulled when he said that—spat that. ‘What is it you do for a living, Timmy?’

‘Right. And how did we meet again?’ 

I set my ice cream down, stared at the polaroids on the opposite wall. There were a couple of beats of silence.

‘Right. You’re right, forget about it,’ Armie muttered. He hung up. I flung my phone onto the kitchen table. It slid off and hit a chair on the way down.

There was a knock on the door. I hadn’t been shouting, but maybe my music had been a little loud for this time of morning. I turned off my speakers and grabbed the first pair of jeans I found in my closet. I pulled a black hoodie over my head and went to answer the door. They hadn’t knocked again, so maybe it had just been the music. I turned the light in the hallway on and opened the door a crack. It was Danny, fully dressed, Kiki asleep in her stroller. I was confused.

‘I’m sorry, Tim—I heard music, assumed you were up,’ he started, his voice low.

‘Yeah, I—couldn’t sleep. What’s up?’

‘I don’t know what to do, man. Maya’s stuck at the hospital and I have an early shift. I can’t bring her to the daycare before eight.’ The question was already on his face. I opened the door a little further. ‘Seriously? You’re saving my ass right now,’ he sighed.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I assured him.

He pushed the stroller into the corridor and handed me the diaper bag off his shoulder.

‘She’s still out cold, I just dressed her and everything. She’s probably gonna be asleep for another hour or so and there’s a bottle for when she wakes up.’

‘Don’t worry about it, okay?’

‘Alright, man. I owe you big time.’ He kissed Kiki on the forehead and patted his chest before disappearing down the stairs. I carefully closed the door and pushed the stroller into the living room. Danny had assured me she was fast asleep, but I didn’t turn the lights on. I sat on the couch and watched her for a while, before realizing how tired I still was. I pulled the covers off the bed and tucked myself in on the couch.

 

Kyara was only stirring, but it woke me up anyway. I turned on my night light, picked her up, and dug through the diaper bag for her bottle. She was barely awake, nagging rather than crying. The bottle was still lukewarm, but I knew better than to nuke formula, so I handed it to her and steadied it with one finger. She drank it without complaining. 

‘Hey, you’re getting pretty good at that!’ I turned on the big lights and checked myself out in the mirror. I had no idea what I was wearing. It turned out to be some baggy light jeans I hadn’t worn in ages. They looked okay with the sweater. Kiki smiled at me in the mirror, so I danced with her. ‘Maybe not too much shaking while you’re having your breakfast though.’ I sat back down with her. She held the strap on my hoodie in one hand and her bottle in the other, with my help. We were buddies. I pulled her socks up and wondered if Danny had forgotten her shoes in a hurry. Not that she really needed them.

A knock on the door startled both of us.

‘Oh! I think that might be your mommy!’ Kiki smiled at the mention. I hiked her up on my hip and carried her to the door in one arm. She was getting heavy. I swung the door open, fully expecting to see Maya, back from her shift. Instead, I got Armie. I let go of the door, wrapped a hand around the baby’s leg. This was definitely not her mommy.

‘Can I come in?’

‘You can’t just show up at someone’s place uninvited, Armie. You clearly missed a few memos growing up,’ I told him.

‘I texted.’ He seemed confused. Since my phone was still face-down in the kitchen, _I’d_ missed the memo. ‘So can I come in?’

‘We’re not _effing_ ,’ I hissed. None of that make up shit. It was a reminder to myself more than anything. Armie followed me inside and closed the door behind him. He stepped out of his loafers. Old, brown boat shoe type things.

‘Do I look like I came here to fuck?’ Now that he mentioned it, I noticed he looked surprisingly dumpy. I’d been staring at his face again. Had I closed my mouth this time? He wore a down jacket, black jeans, and a camo cap. He took it off. 

‘Will you shush? Her first word cannot be ‘fuck’,’ I told him off. I turned around so I didn’t have to look at him laugh at me. Right. Phone. ‘Here.’ I handed him the baby and glared at him. He swooped her up easily. She seemed unfazed. 

I went into the kitchen to get my phone. This was the real walk of shame; throwing a fragile iPhone across the room and having to retrieve it later, hoping it was still in one piece. Mine didn’t even have a case. I crossed my fingers as I picked it up. The bottom right corner had chipped, but it seemed fine apart from that. I tapped the home button. Seven-thirty.

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that,’ Armie called from the other room. I followed the sound. ‘Going from a fricative to a velar stop is a little too advanced for our little friend here,’ he explained. ‘Plus, I bet she has a few words already,’ he added in praise. I was reminded of his family, and felt like shit. He’d probably read books on childhood development. ‘Who’s this?’ He lifted Kiki a little, as if I wouldn’t realize who he was talking about.

‘Kyara,’ I told him. ‘She’s my neighbor’s. I watch her sometimes.’ I couldn’t remember if I’d told him that over dinner. It felt like ages ago, longest weekend of my life. ‘I actually have to take her to daycare now.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Armie said decisively. I stepped in some boots and he got back into his loafers, sockless. He carried the stroller down the stairs. We dropped Kiki off at daycare, and I texted Danny to tell him she was fine.

 

We walked for a while. Armie offered to carry my backpack for me, but I didn’t see why. I asked him if his feet were cold. They were, so we went to the nearest coffee place.

I got a flat white in a double to-go cup to keep it piping hot. Armie asked for a coffee. Sometimes it seemed like he was from a different planet, or a different era at least. I didn’t say anything, unsure of where we stood. Were we still on him being way out of line, or were we on me grossly overreacting and cutting him off? I turned my cup as I sipped it. Armie chuckled.

‘What are you doing?’ I hated how he could suddenly sound so soft. It was like adding a baby to the mix had completely de-escalated our argument.

‘Nothing,’ I mumbled. I set my cup down. ‘This way the foam isn’t all left on the bottom when I finish,’ I explained. He laughed, sighed.

‘I’m sorry, okay? Can we please just agree that we’re _both_ idiots?’ I wanted to be offended, but he was right.

‘Do you wanna walk?’ Armie nodded and followed me outside.

‘I know you’re gonna land on your feet,’ he then said. ‘But I’d really like to help you.’

‘I know.’ I didn’t know why exactly, but he seemed sincere. ‘I’d really rather not take a bunch of cash from you like this, though. Feels—icky.’ I suddenly remembered the envelope in my backpack. I swung it around my side and unzipped the front pocket to take it out. I handed it back to him.

Armie tapped the envelope in the palm of his hand and opened it. For a moment, I thought he was gonna count to see if I kept some for myself, but he just took out the money, folded it in half over his thumb and leaned down to stick it in the cup of the first beggar we passed. He put the envelope in his back pocket.

‘It’s gone,’ he simply said. I scoffed.

‘You’re an idiot.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you all so much for leaving so many comments on the last chapter! I read all of them and I don’t know how to reply apart from grabbing my own face.
> 
> Secondly, this one’s for Ghostcat’s birthday week (love you, will write you a speech when I post that other thing you commissioned). 
> 
> The next chapter is the last one in this story, but I’m sure I’ll revisit camboy!timmy in a one shot (or two) because he’s just too fun.


	5. Can't straighten up when you bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss me?

 

‘Thanks for the space heater,’ I started. I looked at the deep blue spaceship in the middle of the room. I had to keep it at the lowest setting so it wasn’t too loud, but even then it did a good job at warming me. ‘Don’t send me stuff like that anymore though. I already told you if I get robbed it’ll be your fault.’

Armie had offered to buy a place in the city. It would be for when he was over on business, but really it would be for me. I’d told him to knock himself out, but I was staying.

‘You need a PO box,’ Armie reminded me.

‘Until I get one, don’t send me anything.’

‘Fine, I’ll only hand you things in person from now on.’

I pulled my pillows in to surround me and settled into bed. This was how it went most times we talked. I had gotten cold despite the new heater. Kenneth could sometimes catch me off guard. I hadn’t been planning on taking anything off at all. It had just happened. He was the only person I’d told the whole story to, without leaving out any detail. I’d never seen someone look so jealous and turned on at the same time. 

‘When will that be?’ I asked frankly. Armie had been in New York a few times, but only had time for coffee in between meetings. Most days he couldn’t come online until I was exhausted. Some days he couldn’t even turn his microphone on. All of that had added up to me now wanting him unabashedly. It didn’t embarrass me anymore to text him that I missed him in the middle of the day. I didn’t care if it made me look needy. I _was_ needy, and it had done nothing to scare Armie off.

‘Soon,’ he promised.

‘How soon?’

‘Two weeks,’ he then said. It was the first concrete answer I’d gotten in a while, and for once it wasn’t followed by a ‘but’. ‘I have a weekend off,’ he continued. ‘I’ll come on Saturday, spend the night.’ I smiled. ‘Does that sound good?’ I nodded. Spend the night.

 

‘Menno, she’s not gonna eat you. She can barely make it through the bun,’ I sighed.

‘Right. Why is she here again?’ Menno kept his eye on the little girl to his right as he took a bite from his hot dog. Kyara plucked at the empty bun in front of her. Most of it was on the floor. It was Armie’s Saturday, I’d chewed all the loose skin off my cuticles and then some, and I’d forgotten all about lunch, which had resulted in a double booking.

‘Danny asked me to watch her. I told him I was going out, but I could take her. So here we are,’ I explained. It had been a last minute change of plans, but Danny seemed fine with dogs and shakes. She already ate, but she was a social eater. Menno sat in the middle of the bench, Suzanna pressed into the corner next to him.

‘Shouldn’t we vote on something like this?’ he questioned.

‘You’re the only baby at the table. Do you wanna switch? Let’s switch,’ Suzanna decided for him. She ushered him out of the booth and followed, spun him around and made him sit down in the corner. She switched the baskets in front of them. ‘I think it’s cool that you’re doing this, Timmy.’ I could count on her to be supportive of whatever I did. 

‘She is pretty cool,’ I agreed. ‘Kiki, high five?’ Her hands were all bread mush and spit, but one of them raised in a tiny high five. I wiped my hands on my jeans.Menno’s nose wrinkled—probably involuntarily.

‘And Danny knows you’ve taken his daughter out with a bunch of misfits?’ Suzanna laughed into her drink. I took a sip of my own.

‘He trusts me to take care of her,’ I replied, stuffing a fry in my mouth with the vanilla shake.

‘Yeah, Suzy—it’s himself he can’t take care of,’ Lukas commented. It was unnecessary, but I didn’t feel like arguing. He’d been exceptionally quiet since I mentioned I was seeing Armie this weekend. Suzanna glared at him.

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she jumped in. She was right. It really wasn’t. I understood why he was irked though. Suzanna was only partly informed. An online date gone awry; a misunderstanding. We made up the next day.

‘This guy is bad news,’ Lukas insisted. I was glad he put food in his mouth after that. Menno apparently felt everyone was due an update on the bad news.

‘Did you talk to him lately?’ I put a hand over my mouth as I chewed and rolled my eyes to indicate I wasn’t gonna reply with a full mouth.

‘Oh, now he needs the time to chew,’ Lukas honed. I swallowed.

‘We’re fine. I talked to him the other day,’ I finally replied. It wasn’t a lie. I talked to him the other day and all other days before and after that one. In the past couple of months, he’d visited three times. I checked my watch. Four times.

‘He’s a bored rich kid who thinks his money can get him anything he wants,’ Lukas added. He was clearly not done. 

‘Hey, we saw him, right? He looked upset,’ Menno tried to back me up. The irony was that it had been his money that made things more complicated in the first place. We’d been fine until he got out his wallet. ‘Besides, is it really that hard to believe that he actually likes Timmy? You like Timmy,’ he hit out. I could tell from Lukas’ glare that that was the end of the conversation. It quickly turned into the end of the meal.

 

A dark SUV pulled up right next to me. I usually insisted on taking the train, and Armie supported me in my whole independence thing. When I’d told him I was out with a stroller, it had been Armie’s turn to insist. I’d never seen the car before, and it was dark inside, but I smiled at the window. The door on the driver’s side opened, and Armie ducked out. I had a terrible memory when it came to him. I could never remember how tall he was, how bright his smile, or even what his face looked like exactly. It all got a little blurry as soon as he went, and I was left with were sore legs.

‘Hey, gorgeous.’ How deep his voice. He wasn’t talking to me. Armie unclasped Kyara from her stroller and picked her up, opening the car door. He worked her jacket off her shoulders and set her down in the car seat in the back. There were two. ‘I’ll put the stroller in the back,’ he then said. I made sure she was clicked in right, and heard honking behind us. Armie raised his hand once. The way he could wave at a taxi driver and not get insults thrown at him. I shut the door and got in the passenger seat. Armie joined me in the front.

‘Hi,’ I finally greeted.

‘Hey,’ he sighed. He checked his mirrors and pulled back into the street, accelerated when we reached the middle lane. He put a hand on my knee. ‘Happy to see you,’ he smiled. Most of all, I could never quite remember how much he seemed to like me. I couldn’t explain it. It was like he tried to make sure that I knew how much he enjoyed my company at all times. Put his hand on my knee and squeezed it. Smiled at me and narrowed his eyes more when I finally looked up, showed me his teeth. 

‘Happy you’re here,’ I agreed. 

‘You okay back there?’ There was no reply. ‘We’ll get you there as fast as we can, ma’am,’ Armie then said solemnly. I laughed. She could do yes and no, but Kiki wasn’t at the stage where you could have a conversation with her yet. Her latest thing was ‘look’. It was like a very challenging game of I Spy, where you got no clues, but had to be as enthusiastic as possible in your reaction. It was either that or singing. We slowed at a red light. 

‘Look,’ Kiki chirped. ‘Look!’

‘Yeah, did you see the doggie? He’s big, huh?’ Armie looked over his shoulder and then turned to me. ‘Silent agreement.’

‘Do you bring your kids to the city a lot?’ I didn’t mean it to sound so out of the blue. The way he drove, carelessly throwing glances into the backseat just made it seem like he did this every day. The light turned green again. 

‘Not a lot,’ he replied. ‘I don’t even really use this car. It just sits in a parking lot, collecting dust and eating money.’ I nodded. ‘I look back even if they’re not in there,’ Armie added. It sounded like an apology. ’Habit.’ I didn’t know what I wanted out of this conversation. I didn’t want him to pretend he didn’t love his kids, make him pick one life over the other. I didn’t want him to leave his family to be with me. I wouldn’t know what to do with him. Was it selfish to keep him then? I could tell the silence unsettled Armie.

‘It was just a question,’ I smiled. He rolled with it. 

‘How long do you have to watch her?’ Armie’s hand never left my knee—perks of an automatic car. It wandered up my thigh a little, barely noticeable.

‘Danny should be back by now,’ I assured him. 

 

I guided Armie past the stairs and proudly pressed the button on the elevator. It had been working for two weeks straight, and I already yearned for the day it broke again. Climbing three floors with no elevator was fine. The constant humming as it passed my apartment was not. I was prepared to pay extra for people to just stop using it. I held the door open as Armie pushed the stroller inside because I didn’t trust it to not just close on us. We made it upstairs in one piece.

Danny was home. Armie quickly let go of the stroller when the door opened, but Danny didn’t seem surprised or confused at the stranger pushing his daughter into his apartment. He caught him on the threshold and shook his hand.

‘We’ve met,’ he seemed to remember.

‘Yes,’ Armie smiled. ‘Armie. I’m a friend of Timmy’s.’

‘Danny,’ Danny replied. ‘Hey, princess. Did you have a good time?’ He lifted her out of the stroller. I dropped the diaper bag in the hallway as Armie retreated. He looked impatient. ‘Not even two years old and already your social calendar is fuller than mine,’ Danny joked.

‘She was a star,’ I assured him. Menno could complain about her all he wanted, the kid was extremely well-behaved. 

‘Alright, you guys enjoy your weekend,’ Danny concluded, apparently picking up on the silence from Armie’s side.

‘We will. If you need me—‘

‘I’ll knock,’ Danny said. Kyara’s head looked heavy against his shoulder. I winked at her and pulled the door shut behind me. Armie waited for me to unlock mine. I realized I’d only turned the lock once. As always, a small surge of panic rushed through me as I opened the door. Had I cleaned up? Cleared my laundry off the floor? Did I leave my plate in bed? I hadn’t. I locked the door behind us and left the key in the lock. He turned the corner, into the room. I took my jacket off and stepped out of my sneakers.

Armie stood in the middle of my room, looking out the window. The room was clean. I remembered making the bed that morning and thinking it might look too staged, whatever that meant. Other people probably didn’t think about stuff that much. Armie clearly didn’t. He sat on the bed and pulled me closer by my thighs. I wobbled, gave in, kissed the top of his head. 

‘Go wash your hands,’ I told him. Knowing him, he’d hurried from home to the airport, on and off the plane, into a cab, picked up his car and drove us here, without stopping or thinking too much.

‘I don’t even get a kiss first?’ He huffed.

‘Go wash your hands and you can get all the kisses you want.’ He got up again, and I pushed his coat off his shoulders. I dropped it on the bed. It was heavy.

‘Hm. Is that company policy?’ I narrowed my eyes at him. He’d turned our spat into a running gag; he could only afford to sleep with me every once in a while. That’s why it had taken him so long to come back. When he’d been in town for a day, booked back-to-back, he’d made time to see me for coffee, told me he didn't have any budget left at the moment. We joked about my Scrooge McDuck-style pool of gold in the basement every time the coins in my chatroom rolled.

I heard Armie feel around the bathroom wall for the light switch. Had I picked up my towel after my shower? Was there a dry, fresh one for Armie? Did I leave hair in the sink? The water kept running. I imagined Armie with his hands cupped under the tap, splashing his face, repeating the process twice. I ran my hand over the smooth lining of his coat and found that the patch on his inside pocket had his initials embroidered on it. He was _this_ kind of people. The light switched off in the bathroom and Armie emerged again. I still had my hand inside his coat.

‘Are you robbing me?’

‘Company policy,’ I explained. I slipped my hand in his pocket and produced a black leather wallet. It was thick and heavy and looked extremely thumbed. It didn’t match the coat at all. This had never been monogrammed. He watched me closely but allowed me to take his wallet and put it on the chair next to my bed. I hung his coat off the back. ‘Sit,’ I told him. I tried to suppress a bounce in my step when he did as he was told, despite the hesitant look on his face. Armie was playing along nicely. I stood between his legs at the foot of the bed and wiped a hand over the side of his face. His hair was a little wet. He wrapped an arm around my thigh again.

‘Your hair is long,’ he remarked. He couldn’t reach to touch it, settled for my back.

‘Yeah, that’s what happens with—time, you know,’ I muttered.

‘I know. I’m sorry it took me so long,’ Armie replied. I didn’t want him to apologize. I knew I had no right to him. This was all gravy. I knelt down between his feet and untied his shoelaces, slipped his dress shoes off his heels one by one. I put them aside. I glanced up to find Armie still hesitant about what was going on. I wasn’t sure what I was doing either. It was a joke, but maybe I was taking it too far. I took his socks off as well and found his feet tanned, noticeably darker than his soles. Did he hang out in the garden at home? I bet he had a pool too. I stuffed his socks into his shoes. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Nothing,’ I mumbled. He ran a hand over my hair, urging me to get up again. ‘Ah-ah.’

‘What? I washed my hands,’ he complained.

‘Kissing is extra,’ I told him. He snorted, but it didn’t turn into a laugh.

‘What’s included?’

I pulled myself up on his knees and bent down to undo his belt. Armie leaned back on his hands to give me space. Whatever this was, he was fine with it. He started to clear his throat but stopped halfway, like he was planning on saying something but then swallowed his words. He looked at my lips but didn’t lean forward. He could have. I would have let him. This was a game I didn’t mind losing. I noticed his eyes drift down to my neck, his fingers following without thinking. Armie touched the top button of my shirt and tugged it out from under my sweater slightly. He smiled. I’d forgotten I was wearing my pink shirt. I’d put it on in the morning but quickly pulled a sweater over it when Danny had texted me. It would have been too cold out anyway. Armie dragged the collar of my sweater down in a hurried attempt to get a better look at my shirt. I lifted the hem and Armie took over when the sweater reached my armpits. He pulled it over my head. I pulled my shirt down, straightening the front and covering my hips again. Armie seemed pleased for now. He touched the ruffles and took a closer look at the buttons while I worked his pants. 

His mouth opened again when I reached a hand inside. He was warm, soft jersey stretching over his half-hard dick. He ran a hand down my arm, wrapped it around my wrist. I thought he was stopping me, but he just flipped the cuff of my sleeve once and stroked a thumb over the skin before doing the same to my other arm.

‘You like that?’

‘That’s how you wore it,’ he mumbled, admiring his work. The deep blush had spread from his temples over his cheeks and towards the middle of his face. It seemed even his eyes were warm; they were glossier than usual. It made me smile. He was caught. Armie ran a hand down his face and then back up, over his hair. He leaned back on the bed to give me space again; _continue_.

I unzipped his slacks and grabbed whatever I could reach. I couldn’t quite wedge my fingers all the way inside. Armie lifted his hips so I could pull his pants down just far enough. I grabbed him again, squeezing. I felt his dick throb against my hand. I started stroking him through his boxers.

‘You’re fast,’ he commented. 

‘Time is money.’

Armie snorted again, so I laughed with him. I put one, two, three fingertips on the waistband of his boxers and hooked behind it to peel them down. They were tight, so I held them there. No time to take them all the way off. The elastic cut into Armie’s thighs, but he didn’t mind. I ran a hand down his balls, cupping them, my fingers wrapping around the base of his dick as it lay flat against his stomach. I went to kneel but decided differently. Instead, I placed my hands on both his thighs and bent over. Armie flinched. I knew this usually made an impression when I was naked. Apparently, the pink shirt did it too. I dug my thumbs in the insides of his thighs as I dragged my lips over his erection. It twitched against my mouth. Armie let himself fall back on the bed with a groan. I chuckled and dipped my head, licking the tip of his dick. He sighed again. I suddenly remembered I hadn’t done this before but couldn’t remember why not. I licked him up and down, and finally wrapped my lips around him. I squeezed his thighs again, and Armie propped himself up on his elbows to watch me. The head filled my mouth easily. I lowered myself to take more but stopped when he hit the back of my mouth. I couldn’t let myself get too carried away; I had been eating hot dogs after all. I wrapped a hand around his dick and looked up. Armie let his head drop on his shoulder to get a better look at me, and decided my hair was in the way. He caught it between his fingers and brushed it back. 

‘It’s so long,’ he mumbled. I smiled and took him back in my mouth, stroked him twice and popped my lips when I pulled off again.

‘You said that already,’ I reminded him. He ignored me. 

‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he grumbled. I wrapped my lips around him again and shot him a glare. His hand glided through my hair and down my neck, his fingers dipping under the collar of my shirt. It felt cool. 

I sucked him, not too fast, my hand following. My other hand was heavy on his thigh. I felt his foot grazing mine. It lifted, resting on my calf. Every once in a while, I lifted my head to look at him, stroked him until his mouth opened, and went back to sucking him. It was about finding the right rhythm, the right grip, the right fit in my mouth. Armie’s hand moved only inches. His fingers just under my shirt, his thumb dipping behind my collarbone and onto the side of my neck. I found he enjoyed it when I let go with a smack. It made him laugh; a low, pained chuckle finding its way out every time. He didn’t tell me I was beautiful after that.

I could tell he was very aware that the neighbors were home, and he was on a first-name basis with them now. He was all hisses and sighs, his stomach clenching under his shirt. His eyes had been closed for a while now. His fingers left my neck and curled into my hair again, their grip tightening. He didn’t pull very hard, but held my head in place and angled his hips up. Only a little; just so that with each thrust my lips would pop over the tip of his dick. I let him pick up the pace, let my hand drop to his balls and squeezed them. His breathing changed and his body tensed. He held me in place by my hair as he came in my mouth, suddenly sitting up, cradling my head. His leg hooked behind mine, making me stumble as I stood up.

Armie let himself fall back on the bed and wrapped both legs around me. I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

‘Fuck,’ he sighed. He pressed his palms into his eye sockets. ‘ _Fuck_. You’re good at that.’ I just laughed. ‘ _I know_ ,’ he mimicked me, making up a reply in my place. It was too high and annoying.

‘Shut up.’

Armie let go of my legs and stood. I dropped myself onto the bed to make room. I scooted back and watched him unbutton his shirt as he stepped out of his pants. He put his clothes on my chair by the window, clearly planning on wearing them again later.

‘Can you hand me my wallet? I don’t want to forget it later.’ He pointed at it, one eye closed. I grabbed it and folded it open. The corners of Armie’s mouth dropped. I was only joking, but did he honestly think I was going to take his money after I made that whole scene about not wanting it? I decided I’d taken the joke too far to backpedal without losing face. I pretended to count his cash when my fingernail hooked behind something thicker than money.

‘What’s this?’ I pulled it out and looked at myself. It was a Polaroid, kind of blurry, tongue out, devil horns up. It had been up in my kitchen, and I couldn’t remember missing it. Armie must have had it for weeks though. ‘When did you take this?’

‘I think you were looking for snacks,’ he mumbled. He was still red, so I couldn’t tell if this was adding to the blush.

‘Do you steal things often?’ I slipped the photo back in his wallet and handed it to him, money and all.

‘Sometimes,’ he confessed. I snorted.

‘What can’t your money buy?’

‘Hotel slippers, Starbucks mugs. I took a silver spoon from Caffè Florian in Venice,’ he summed up without thinking too long. I fake-gasped.

‘They’d hang you if they found out.’

‘Can I keep this?’ I shrugged. He put his wallet back in his coat and put his coat with his other clothes.

‘Come here.’ I patted the bed and Armie settled next to me, resting his head on my chest. I ran my hands through his hair and wrapped the curl in his neck around my finger. ‘Your hair’s long too,’ I remarked. He didn’t reply. He weaved his fingers in the front of my shirt; finger, button, finger, button, finger. His index finger slipped between the bottom two buttons. He drew lines on my stomach. I scratched the hair behind his ears.

‘I’m gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that,’ Armie mumbled.

‘That’s okay,’ I decided. He tugged the covers from under me and covered us with it. I wriggled out of my pants and wrapped my legs around his, one foot on top and one foot underneath his. Armie made it clear my shirt was staying on for now. With my feet where they were, my head didn’t reach past his shoulder. He lifted an arm and pulled me in. I tucked the duvet under my chin and pulled it over Armie’s shoulder. I rested my cheek in the dip between his chest and collarbone. His eyes were closed, and his face seemed miles away. Chin, cheekbone, eyelashes.

‘I get why you like it here,’ Armie muttered. His voice was amplified against my ear.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. I like it here,’ he decided.

‘It’s a dump,’ I admitted. The elevator whooshed by again.

‘It’s your own spot.’ That didn’t mean anything. ‘The bathroom’s right there.’ He stretched out an arm off the bed. It reached halfway through the room. I laughed. ‘Can I hide here all weekend?’ He tugged the blanket over his own face, and covered me completely in the process. He grabbed my ass and rolled me over, half on top of him. I wanted to tell him I could hide him here for longer than the weekend. I just dropped my face on his chest.

‘You’re soft. And warm,’ I said.

‘I am warm,’ Armie agreed. He took my thumb and used my hand to squeeze his balls and graze over his dick, more roughly than I would have dared. He inhaled sharply. Not soft.

‘That was fast,’ I commented, honestly surprised.

‘Getting my money’s worth,’ he joked. He rolled us both over and buried his face in my neck, kissing it.

‘We’re done with that. You can kiss me now,’ I told him. He did.

 

He fucked me. So slowly I couldn’t remember what time it was, or what day, or that I had neighbors. I noticed him laugh at me twice, before kissing to shut me up. He didn’t stop, didn’t pause, didn’t go faster. Always inside of me, stretching me, a feeling in my chest screaming for— _something_. I remembered thinking I needed more legs, more limbs to hold him with. Like a spider, wrap him up and keep him forever. Who’d find him here?

He was heavy, and so warm, and the blanket covering us made the world even smaller. I’d lost my shirt at some point. It would need dry cleaning. I couldn’t focus on Armie’s face so I closed my eyes and tried to remember it. I could tell he was close when he wanted to make me come; he couldn’t possibly come twice and leave me hanging. I didn’t care much, but my pelvis had been at an unnatural angle for what seemed like hours and I needed to stretch my legs. When I dropped them from his back, Armie straightened them out and turned me over before he continued fucking me. I lifted my hips as far from the bed as I could with his weight on me and was reminded of my laziness when it came to putting together Ikea furniture. I knew I should have tightened the screws after the wood had settled a little, but I hadn’t, and it showed. The headboard banged against the wall and the slatted base creaked _sans cesse_. The English expression didn’t come to mind. 

I recalled Armie asking me something. I couldn’t tell if he’d just asked or if it had been a few minutes, but he repeated it.

‘Does that feel good?’

I nodded, and in the same motion, buried my face in the mattress. I was done holding up both my neck and my ass; one had to give. Armie rewarded me for my decision by squirming his hand under me and wrapping it around my dick. It had clearly been ignored for too long. He lifted my hips a couple of inches more and tossed the duvet off his shoulders. The cool air hit me. Armie stroked me determinedly, in time with his thrusts. As I came, I heard him make sounds that didn’t seem to come from him at all, or at least not voluntarily.

 

I wanted to keep him inside of me afterwards, go to sleep with all of his weight on me, but he kissed the back of my head and rolled to the side. I heard the snap of the condom, the groan as he stretched his legs, the sigh as he ran a hand over my back. I turned to face him. The room was dark. I hadn’t noticed. I closed my eyes again. Armie kissed my face.

‘Do you have any juice?’ His voice sounded raspy. I hoped Danny wouldn’t need a babysit anytime soon or at least had a spotty memory.

‘I have _so_ much juice,’ I bragged, my eyes still closed. The mattress shifted as Armie got up to go to the kitchen. The fridge door opened. He kept it open, and I heard the thing start to rumble to make up for it. ‘Don’t take any more photos,’ I called. ‘Those people don’t want to be in your wallet.’

Armie emerged from the kitchen holding a large bottle of something pink. Probably something with beets.

‘You _do_ have a lot of juice,’ he confirmed. 

‘It’s for when I’m too lazy for food,’ I mumbled. Like now.

‘Too lazy for food? You mean for chewing?’ I nodded. ‘I only get that when I’ve smoked, but I usually just—power through,’ he said. 

‘Can we stay in?’ I rolled onto my side to look at him, and Armie tilted his head to meet me halfway.

‘We could,’ he agreed. ‘You don’t want to go out for dinner?’ I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was to bend over to put socks on.

‘We could go out for brunch,’ I tried. I knew he had to go again, but maybe we could squeeze in some food after morning sex— _maybe_. I stretched and winced. ‘You could go home in the afternoon. You’ll be flying back in time anyway.’ I waved my arm to illustrate the curvature of the earth. Armie pressed the bottle of juice in my hand.

‘Hmm,’ he seemed to imagine. ‘Do you think I could fly back in time to about an hour ago?’

‘We could try,’ I shrugged and took a sip.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took ages to finish, so thank you to everyone that stuck around!

**Author's Note:**

> Ghostcat instigated this. Your quarrel is with her. 
> 
> Just kidding, I love her for making me write this, you can fight us both on it.


End file.
